UC-NRLF 


B    3    SbM    7Ma 


A    REVIEW    OF    HAMLET 


MACBETH  — A  FRAGMENT 


By  George  Henry  Miles 

Said  the  Rose,  and  Other  Lyrics 

Christine,  and  Other  Poems 

Mohammed 

Essay  on    Hamlet 

Loretto  j  OR,  The  Choice.     A  Novel 

The  Truce  of  God.      A  Novel 

The  Governess.      A  Novel 


OEORGE    HENRY    MILES 


A    REVIEW 

OF 

HAMLET 


GEORGE  HENRY  MILES  ^^ 

Late  Professor  of  Literature  in  Mount  St.  Mary'' s 
College,  Maryland 


New  Edition 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  AND    CO. 

91   AND  93  FIFTH  AVE.,  NEW  YORK 
LONDON,    BOMBAY,    AND    CALCUTTA 

1907 


f^h^ 


Copyright,   1870, 
By  George  H.   Miles 

Copyright,  1907, 
By  F.   B.   Miles 


All  Rights  Reserved 


THE   UNIVERSITY    PRESS,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.  A, 


PREFACE 

This  "  Review  of  Shakespeare's  Tragedy 
of  Hamlet"  was  first  published  in  1870. 
Much  attention  was  attracted  to  it  because 
of  the  striking  point  of  view  from  which 
it  is  written  and  its  entirely  novel  and 
original  interpretation  of  the  character  of 
Hamlet.  Edwin  Booth,  the  great  actor, 
wrote  a  letter  thanking  Miles  for  this  in- 
terpretation, which  he  adopted,  and  they 
became  good  friends.  A  great  English 
critic  has  lately  said  of  this  Review  :  "  But 
what  strikes  us  most  in  the  essay  is,  not 
only  the  intensity  of  the  critic's  sympa- 
thetic appreciation  of  the  poet's  work,  but 
his  penetrative  insight  into  its  essence. 
Whatever  may  be  thought  of  its  main 
thesis  and  of  some  of  its  minor  conten- 
tions, no  more  vigorous,  subtle,  and  original 
contribution  to  American  Shakespearian 
criticism  has  ever  been  made." 


284510 


Preface 

Miles  was  especially  adapted  to  the 
work  of  dramatic  criticism,  for  he  was  him- 
self a  practised  writer  and  dramatist.  At 
the  age  of  twenty-four  he  had  written  a 
tragedy,  "  Mohammed,"  which,  against  a 
hundred  competitors,  had  gained  the  prize 
of  one  thousand  dollars  that  was  offered 
by  Edwin  Forrest,  the  great  actor  and 
philanthropist,  for  the  best  tragedy  in  five 
acts  by  an  American  writer.  Five  years 
later  his  tragedy  of  "  De  Soto"  was  pro- 
duced by  James  E.  Murdock,  an  eminent 
tragedian,  and  was  performed  in  nearly  all 
parts  of  the  United  States.  After  some 
years  more  of  literary  v/ork  in  writing 
plays,  novels,  and  poems.  Miles  accepted 
the  Professorship  of  English  Literature 
at  the  University  of  Mount  St.  Mary's, 
Maryland. 

The  Review  was  originally  intended  as 
a  lecture  to  be  delivered  by  Edwin  Forrest, 
and  was  afterwards  amplified  and  pub- 
lished by  the  author  in  book  form.  He 
meant  it  to  be  used  also  as  a  text-book 


Preface 

for  advanced  students  in  English  Litera- 
ture. As  he  himself  says  in  writing  to 
a  friend  distinguished  as  an  educator,  to 
whom  he  had  sent  a  copy  of  "  Hamlet "  : 
"  An  experience  of  seven  years'  teaching 
has  convinced  me  of  the  value  of  the  mas- 
terpieces of  the  great  dramatist  as  a  means 
of  education.  It  is  my  intention  to  follow 
this  essay  with  others  on  Macbeth,  Lear, 
Othello,  and  Henry  IV.  In  my  classes 
I  have  found  that  most  collegians  are  easily 
trained  to  understand  and  appreciate  the 
majesty  and  beauty  of  the  poetry.  Even 
dull  students,  of  seventeen  years  or  more, 
when  the  finer  passages  are  read  to  them 
by  a  teacher  with  only  a  very  limited 
power  of  elocution,  can  be  aroused  to  a 
keen  sense  of  interest  in  and  enjoyment 
of  the  dramas  and  of  their  marvellous 
literary   merit." 

Miles  was  also  of  the  opinion  that  these 
essays  would  doubtless  be  welcomed  as 
agreeable  text-books  by  that  very  large 
class  of  people  who,  either  from  scruples 


Preface 

of  conscience  or  lack  of  opportunity,  are 
debarred  from  seeing  and  hearing  Shake- 
speare's plays  at  the  theatre.  It  was  while 
working  at  this  interesting  series,  and 
with  the  Review  of  Macbeth  half  finished, 
that  death  brushed  the  pen  out  of  his 
hands,  leaving  "  Hamlet "  as  his  only  fin- 
ished Shakespearian  essay.  The  fragment 
on  Macbeth  has  been  printed  at  the  end 
of  the  book. 

I  have  to  thank  the  Rev.  Thomas  E. 
Cox,  of  St.  Basil's  Church,  Chicago,  for 
valuable  assistance  and  suggestion  in  the 
preparation  and  revision  of  this  volume. 

F.  B.  M. 


A   REVIEW    OF    HAMLET 


MACBETH  — A  FRAGMENT 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 

In  all  of  Shakespeare's  finer  plays,  there 
is  sure  to  be,  at  least,  one  master  mind 
among  the  characters.  (Lear,  even  in  gro- 
tesque dilapidation,  is  a  master  mind,)Iago 
is  another,  Macbeth,  or  rather  his  Demon 
Lady,  is  another;  but  the  tragedies  them- 
selves are  far  from  owing  their  chief  dra- 
matic force  and  interest  to  this  individual 
ascendency.  In  the  calm,  vindictive  envy 
of  Hgo,  in  the  rage  and  desolation  of 
Lear,  in  the  remorse  of  Macbeth,  pas- 
sion or  plot  is  the  governing  motive  of 
interest;  but  there  is  never  a  storm  in 
Hamlet  over  which  the  *  noble  and  most 
sovereign  reason  '  of  the  young  prince  is 
not  as  visibly  dominant  as  the  rainbow, 
the  crowning  grace  and  glory  of  the  scene. 
Richard  is  the  mind  nearest  Hamlet  in 
scope  and    power;   but  It   is   the  jubilant 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


wickedness,  the  transcendent  dash  and 
courage  of  the  last  Plantagenet  that  rivet 
his  hold  on  an  audience ;  whereas,  the 
most  salient  phase  of  Hamlet's  character 
is  his  superb  ijitellectual  _superiority_to  all 
comers,  even  to  his  most  dangerous  assail- 
ant, madness.  The  fundamental  charm  of 
Hamlet  is  its  amazing  eloquence ;  its 
thoughts  are  vaster  than  deeds,  its  elo- 
quence mightier  than  action.  The  trag- 
edy, in  its  most  imposing  aspect,  is  a  series 
of  intellectual  encounters.  The  Crusader 
of  Ashby  de  la  Zouche,  engaging  all  the 
challengers,  is  not  more  picturesque  than 
this  Desdichado  of  Denmark  consecu- 
tively overthrowing  every  antagonist,  from 
Polonius  in  the  Castle  to  Laertes  in  the 
grave. 

But  the  difficulty  of  representing  this  ! 
The  enormous  difficulty  of  achieving  a 
true  tragic  success,  less  by  the  passions  and 
trials  than  by  the  pure  intellectual  splen- 
dor of  the  hero!  The  almost  superhu- 
man task  of  imparting  intensest  dramatic 


A  Review  oj  Hamlet 


interest  to  a  long  war  of  words  —  for 
the  part  of  Hamlet  is  well  nigh  twice 
the  length  of  any  other  on  the  stage  —  the 
almost  superhuman  power  whereby  the 
prince,  instead  of  degenerating  into  a  mere 
senior  wrangler,  is  so  exalted  by  the 
witchery  of  speech,  that  the  lit  brow 
of  the  young  academician  for  once  out- 
shines the  warrior's  crest,  for  once  com- 
pels a  more  than  equal  homage  from  the 
masses  ! 

Perhaps  Shakespeare  never  asked  him- 
self the  question,  never  precisely  recog- 
nized the  difficulty.  But,  as  the  vision 
of  the  unwritten  Drama  loomed  vaguely 
before  him,  he  must  have  been  conscious 
of  a  summons  to  put  forth  all  his  strength. 
With  a  central  figure  of  such  subtle  spirit- 
uality, with  a  plot  subordinating  action  to 
eloquence,  or  rather  substituting  eloquence 
for  action,  the  great  dramatist  instinctively 
employed  a  Saracenic  richness  and  variety 
of  detail.  The  structure  of  Macbeth  is 
Egyptian,  massive  as  the  pyramids,  or 
3 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


Thebes;  of  Othello,  unadorned,  symmet- 
rical, classic ;  of  Lear,  wild,  unequal,  fan- 
tastic, straggling  as  a  Druid  Grove ;  but 
Hamlet  resembles  some  limitless  Gothic 
Cathedral  with  its  banners  and  effigies,  its 
glooms  and  floods  of  stained  light,  and 
echoes  of  unending  dirges.  I  never  read 
*Act  I.  Scene  i.  Elsinore.  A  platform 
before  the  Castle.  Francisco  at  his  post. 
Enter  to  him  Bernardo, '  without,  somehow, 
beholding  the  myriad-minded  poet  at  his 
desk,  pale,  peaceful,  conscientious,  yet 
pausing  as  in  the  Stratford  bust,  with  lips 
apart,  and  pen  and  eye  awhile  uplifted,  as 
organists  pause  that  silence  may  settle  into 
a  deeper  hush,  —  the  longest  pause  at  such 
a  moment  that  Shakespeare  ever  made. 
But  though  not  embarrassed  by  its  diffi- 
culties, he  must  surely  have  been  awed  by 
the  immensity  of  his  undertaking.  For 
the  fundamental  idea  of  the  tragedy  is  not 
only  essentially  non-dramatic,  but  pecu- 
liarly liable  to  misinterpretation;  since  any 
marked  predominance  of  the  intellectual 
4 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


over  the  animal  nature  is  constantly  mis- 
taken for  weakness. 

The  difference  between  a  strong  man 
and  a  weak  one,  though  indefinable,  is 
infinite.  The  prevalent  view  of  Hamlet 
is,  that  he  is  weak.  We  hear  him  spoken 
of  as  the  gentle  prince,  the  doomed  prince, 
the  meditative  prince,  but  never  as  the 
strong  prince,  the  great  prince,  the  terri- 
ble prince.  He  is  commonly  regarded 
as  more  of  a  dreamer  than  a  doer ;  some- 
thing of  a  railer  at  destiny  ;  a  blighted, 
morbid  existence,  unequal  either  to  for- 
giveness or  revenge ;  delaying  action  till 
action  is  of  no  use,  and  dying  the  vic- 
tim of  mere  circumstance  and  accident. 
The  exquisite  metaphor  of  Goethe's  about 
the  oak  tree  and  the  vase  predestined  for 
a  rose,  crystallizes  and  perpetuates  both  the 
critical  and  the  popular  estimate  of  Ham- 
let. The  Wilhelm  Meister  view  is,  prac- 
tically, the  only  view  ;  a  hero  without  a 
plan,  pushed  on  by  events  alone,  endowed 
more  properly  with  sentiments  than  with 
5 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


a  character,  —  in  a  word,  weak.  But  the 
Hamlet  of  the  critics  and  the  Hamlet  of 
Shakespeare  are  two  different  persons.  A 
close  review  of  the  play  will  show  that 
Hamlet  is  strong,  not  weak,  —  that  the 
basis  of  his  character  is  .^trfingfli^  illimitable 
strength.  There  is  not  an  act  or  an  utter- 
ance of  his,  from  first  to  last,  which  is  not 
a  manifestation  of  power.  Slow,  cautious, 
capricious,  he  may  sometimes  be,  or  seem 
to  be ;  but  always  strong,  always  large- 
^souled,  always  resistless. 

The  care,  the  awe,  with  which  Shakes- 
peare approached  his  work,  are  visible  in 
the  opening  scene.  You  cannot  advance 
three  lines  without  feeling  that  the  poet  is 
before  you  in  all  his  majesty,  armed  for 
some  vast  achievement,  winged  for  the 
empyrean.  In  all  that  solemn  guard  relief, 
there  is  not  a  word  too  much  or  too  little. 
How  calm  and  sad  it  is !  sadness  prefigur- 
ing the  unearthly  theme,  —  grand  synco- 
pated minor  chords,  —  the  Adagio  of  the 
overture  to  Don  Giovanni !  The  super- 
6 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


human  is  instantly  foreshadowed,  and 
hardly  foreshadowed  before  revealed.  The 
dreaded  twice-seen  sight  is  scarcely  men- 
tioned. Bernardo  has  just  begun  his 
story,  — 

Last  night  of  all 
When  yon  same  star  that 's  westward  from  the 

pole 
Had   made   his  course  to   illume   that   part   of 

Heaven 
Where  now  it  burns,  Marcellus  and  myself, 
The  bell  then  beating  one,  — 

when,  without  farther  prelude,  the  sepul- 
chral key-note  of  the  plot  is  struck,  and 
enter  Ghost,  dumb,  majestic,  terrible,  defi- 
ant, and,  above  all,  rapid.  An  honest 
ghost,  a  punctual  ghost ;  no  lagging  Raw- 
head  and  Bloody-bones,  expected  indefi- 
nitely from  curfew  to  cock-crow.  Mark 
the  pains  with  which  this  magnificent 
apparition  is  gradually  got  up ;  observe 
how  crisply  and  minutely  the  actor  is 
instructed  to  dress  the  part.  First  the 
broad  outlines : 

7 


A   Revieiv  of  Hamlet 


that  fair  and  warlike  form 

In  which  the  majesty  of  buried  Denmark 
Did  sometimes  march, — 

the  very  armor  he  had  on 

When  he  the  ambitious  Norway  combated  ; 
So  frown'd  he  once,  when  in  an  angry  parle 
He  smote  the  sledded  Polacks  on  the  ice. 

The  second   touches  are   more  precise 
and  vivid. 

Ham.   Arm'd,  say  you  ? 

Mar.j  Bern.   Arm'd,  my  Lord. 

Ham.  From  top  to  toe  ? 

Afar.,  Bern.  My  lord  from  head  to  foot. 

Ham.  Then  saw  you  not  his  face  ? 

Hor.     O  yes,  my  lord,  he  wore  his  beaver  up. 

Ham.  What,  looked  he  frowningly  ? 

Hor.     A  countenance  more  in  sorrow  than  in 

anger. 
Ham.   Pale  or  red  ? 
Hor.     Nay,  very  pale. 
Ham.   And  fixed  his  eyes  upon  you  ? 
Hor.     Most  constantly. 

****** 

Ham.  Stayed  it  long  ? 


A  Reviciu   of  Hamlet 


Hor.     While  one  with   moderate    haste    might 

tell  a  hundred. 
Mar.^  Bern.  Longer,  longer. 
Hor.     Not  when  I  saw  it. 
Ham.   His  beard  was  grizzled  ?  no  ! 
Hor.     It  was  as  I  have  seen  it  in  his  life, 
A  sable  silver'd. 

No  misconception  now,  my  heavy  friend 
who  plays  the  ghost ;  no  room  for  specu- 
lation in  the  wardrobe  now.  You  cannot 
go  wrong  if  you  would.  'Armed  from  top 
to  toe,'  'his  beaver  up,'  'frowning,'  but 
the  eyebrows  not  too  bushy,  for  the  frown 
is  more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger.  Not  a 
particle  of  rouge,  but  pale,  very  pale ;  nor 
any  roUing  of  the  eyes,  sir,  either,  but  a 
fixed  gaze.  The  very  pace  at  which  you 
are  to  move  is  measured :  count  a  hun- 
dred as  you  make  your  martial  stalk  and 
vanish.  The  delineation  is  Pre-Raphael- 
ite, even  to  that  last  consummate  touch, 
the  sable  silvered  beard.  It  seems  easy, 
this  slow  portraiture  of  a  Phantom,  just  as 
all  perfectly  executed  feats  seem  easy  ;  but 
9 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


it  is  painting  the  rainbow.  And  lest  this 
honest  Ghost  should  become  too  human, 
with  one  wave  of  the  wand  it  is  rendered 
not  only  unearthly,  but  impalpable. 

Hor.  Stop  it,  Marcellus  ! 

Mar.    Shall  I  strike  it  with  my  partisan  ? 

Hor.     Do  if  it  will  not  stand. 

Bern.  'Tis  here ! 

Hor.  'T  is  here  ! 

Mar.    'T  is  gone.  (  Exit  Ghost ) 

We  do  it  wrong,  being  so  majestical. 
To  offer  it  the  show  of  violence  ; 
For  it  is,  as  the  air,  invulnerable. 
And  our  vain  blows  malicious  mockery. 

Manlike,  magnificent,  yet  ghastly  too,  — 
for  our  blood  is  made  to  curdle  by  that 
start  at  cock-crow. 

Ber.     It  was  about  to  speak  when  the  cock  crew. 
Hor.    And  then  it  started  like  a  guilty  thing 
Upon  a  fearful  summons. 

What  a  dark,  weird  whisper  !  How  it 
goes  home  to  the  popular  heart,  —  all  that 
awful  majesty  crouching  at  cock-crow  ! 


A   Revieiu  of  Hamlet 


And  when  the  picture  is  thus  marvel- 
lously finished,  observe  how  lovingly  it  is 
framed  in  gold : 

Some  say,  that  ever  'gainst  that  season  comes 
Wherein  our  Saviour's  birth  is  celebrated, 
The  bird  of  dawning  singeth  all  night  long : 
And  then,  they  say,  no  spirit  dares  stir  abroad  ; 
The    nights    are    wholesome;    then   no  planets 

strike, 
No  fairy  takes,  nor  witch  hath  power  to  charm  : 
So  hallowed  and  so  gracious  is  that  time. 

Where,  save  by  the  pencil  of  the  Paraclete, 
has  such  divine  use  been  made  of  the 
music  of  the  bird  'that  is  the  trumpet  to 
the  morn  ! ' 

There  is  a  loving  care,  a  sedulous  finish, 
about  the  whole  portraiture,  assuring  us 
that  Shakespeare  wrote  the  part  for  him- 
self. We  know  that  he  acted  it,  and  that 
it  was  '  the  top  of  his  performance/ 
What  a  treat  to  have  seen  him  !  Better 
even  than  listening  to  Homer  chanting 
his   fiery  epics.      Perhaps   the  poet  dared 


A   Revieiv   of  Hamlet 


not  trust  his  Ghost  to  other  hands ;  for 
the  fate  of  the  whole  tragedy  hinges 
upon  the  masterly  rendering  of  this  per- 
ilous part.  Although  Burbage,  and  other 
players  of  the  Blackfriars  were  more  pop- 
ular general  actors,  yet  the  elaborate  im- 
personation of  a  departed  soul  differs, 
almost  as  much  as  its  conception,  from 
the  coarser  eloquence  and  action  by  which 
mortal  passions  and  emotions  are  counter- 
feited. That  awful  monotone,  that  stat- 
uesque repose  with  which  the  Ghost  still 
walks  the  stage,  are  probably  a  remi- 
niscence of  him  who  gave  such  immortal 
advice  to  the  Players,  and  who  first  acted 
*  the  Ghost  in  his  own  Hamlet.'  But 
more  than  this.  Aubrey  had  heard  that 
Shakespeare  was  '  a  handsome,  well-shaped 
man  ; '  the  Stratford  Bust  and  the  engrav- 
ing by  Martin  Dreeshout  confirm  the 
tradition.  Connecting  this  tradition  with 
our  positive  knowledge,  that,  not  with- 
standing his  invincible  modesty  and  pro- 
priety, he  ventured  to  undertake  a  part 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


which,  although  predestined  for  himself, 
he  scrupled  not,  in  obedience  to  the  com- 
pulsion of  the  plot,  to  consecrate  for  all 
time  as  the  supreme  type  and  model  of 
manly  beauty,  may  we  not  be  permitted  to 
associate  his  likeness,  in  some  measure  at 
least,  with  that  of  the  majesty  of  buried 
Denmark  ? 

See  what  a  grace  was  seated  on  this  brow  ; 
Hyperion's  curls;   the  front  of  Jove  himself; 
An  eye  like  Mars  to  threaten  and  command  ; 
A  station  like  the  herald  Mercury 
New-lighted  on  a  heaven-kissing  hill ; 
A  combination  and  a  form,  indeed, 
Where  every  god  did  seem  to  set  his  seal, 
To  give  the  world  assurance  of  a  man. 

But  prompt  as  the  apparition  is  to  come, 
it  is  slow  to  speak.  That  it  means  to 
speak,  we  know ;  that  it  means  to  make 
some  fearful  unfolding,  we  feel ;  but  it 
remains  deaf  and  dumb  to  all  Horatio's 
pleading,  —  more  terrible,  more  significant, 
more  obstinately  mute  than  the  Proph- 
13 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


etess  in  the  Agamemnon.  This  superb 
visitant,  so  carefully,  so  cunningly  con- 
structed, is  not  to  be  fathomed  or  unriddled 
at  sight.  It  does  not  pay  its  first  visit  to 
Hamlet  and  blurt  out  all  at  once,  as  a  vul- 
gar, unauthenicated  phantom  would. have 
done.  We  are  allowed  first  to  hear  of  it ; 
then  to  steal  a  glimpse  of  it;  then  to  watch 
it  *  while  one  with  moderate  haste  may  tell 
a  hundred.'  But  just  when  expectation 
is  kindled  to  the  highest  pitch,  the  scene 
shifts,  and  we  are  consigned  by  Horatio 

Unto  young  Hamlet  •,  for,  upon  my  life, 
This  spirit,  dumb  to  us,  will  speak  to  him. 

Not  only  is  the  interest  heightened  by  this 
wise  suspense,  but  it  is  artistically  essential 
to  the  perfect  intelligibility  and  eflfect  of 
the  Ghost's  long  revelation  that  we  should 
have  some  antecedent  acquaintance  with 
the  guilty  King  and  his  infatuated  Queen. 
I  And  not  less  important  that  we  should 
behold  this  same  young  Hamlet  and  his 
attitude  at  Court  before  the  advent  of  the 
14 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


superhuman  —  a  Hamlet  uninfluenced  by 
anything  more  terrible  than  his  father's 
sudden  death  and  mother's  sudden  mar- 
riage, yet  most  profoundly  influenced  by 
that  double  woe.  How  briefly,  yet  how 
completely,  this  is  done. 

King.     But  now   my    cousin    Hamlet    and    my 

son, — 
Ham.     A    little  more  than    kin    and    less  than 

kind.      (^Jside.) 
King.     How  is  it  that  the  clouds  still  hang  on 

you  ? 
Ham.     Not  so,  my  lord ;   I  am  too  much  i'  the 

sun. 

Notice  the  first  keen  flashes  of  this  noble 
and  most  sovereign  reason  sparkling  in  its 
own  gloom  like  polished  jet.  Disarmed 
at  the  first  pass  that  uncle-father.  Nor 
does  the  Queen  fare  better.  — 

^ueen.    Good  Hamlet,  cast  thy  nighted  colour 
off, 
And  let  thine  eye  look  like  a   friend  on 
Denmark. 

15 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


Do  not  forever  with  thy  vailed  lids 
Seek  for  thy  noble  father  in  the  dust : 
Thou  know'st  't  is  common  —  all  that 
^-'  live  must  die, 

Passing  through  nature  to  eternity. 
Ham.    Ay,  madam  ;  it  is  common, 

Her  maternal  platitudes  are  shivered  by 
the  easy  scorn  of  his  reply.  But  this  res- 
olute woman,  then  undergoing  perhaps 
her  first  experience  in  being  silenced, 
answers  very  much  to  the  purpose  : 

<>.  If  it  be. 

Why  seems  it  so  particular  with  thee  ? 
Ham.    Seems,  madam  !  — 

It  is  like  *t.he  flash  and  motion  '  of  Geraint. 
No  more  questionings,  but  '  we  pray  you* 
*  we  beseech  you,  * '/  is  sweet  and  commend- 
able in  your  nature^  *  let  not  thy  mother 
lose  her  prayers, '  '  be  as  ourself  in  Den- 
mark.' And  he?  —  he  is  hardly  listening  : 
he  will,  in  all  his  best,  obey  them  :  he  will 
stay  at  home  and  not  go  back  to  school  at 
Wittenberg.  For  let  it  not  be  forgotten, 
i6 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


that  this  superb  intelligence,  whose  career 
has  charmed  and  perplexed   mankind   for 
three  centuries,   was   not    too   old    to   go 
'  back    to    school    in    Wittenberg.'     This  t 
immaturity    should    be    carefully    remem- ^ 
bered  in  the  estimate  of  his  character.     A  '\ 
Collegian,   even  of  thirty,   summoned   by 
the  visible  ghost  of  a  murdered  sire  from 
love  and   life  and  the  fair  orchards  of  rip- 
ening manhood,  to  revenge  and  ruin,  may 
exhibit    much    hesitancy    and    vacillation, 
without  being  tainted  with  inherent  infirm- 
ity of  purpose. 

That  wondrous  first  soliloquy  is  the 
simultaneous  presentation  of  a  plot  and  of 
a  character,  —  of  all  the  tragic  antecedents 
of  the  Play,  and  of  Hamlet  struggling 
through  the  gloom,  the  incarnation  of 
eloquent  despair. 

O,  that  this  too  —  too  solid  flesh  would  melt, 
Thaw,  and  resolve  itself  into  a  dew  ! 
Or  that  the  Everlasting  had  not  fix'd 
His    canon     'gainst    self-slaughter  !     O    God  ! 
O  God! 

17 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


i  fix( 


How  weary,  stale,  flat  and  unprofitable 
Seem  to  me  all  the  uses  of  this  world  !  &c. 

Is  this  a  sample  of  the  imputed  '  waver- 
ing melancholy  and  soft  lamenting  ? '  Since 
the  Psalms  of  David,  and  the  still  deeper 
pathos  of  the  Passion,  where  has  mental 
agony  found  such  awful  utterance  ?  Nor 
is  the  final  line,  — 

But  break,    my    heart,  —  for  I  must   hold  my 
tongue  ! 

any  evidence  of  weakness.  For  what 
cou/d  the  man  say  ?  The  throne  was  not 
hereditary  ;  his  mother  was  mistress  of  her 
own  hand ;  he  had  no  proof,  not  even  a 
fixed  suspicion,  of  foul  play.     His  tongue 

s  sealed  until  the  coming  of  the  Ghost. 

It  is  manifest  from  the  King's  speech  at 
the  opening  of  the  second  scene,  that  the 
royal  pair  are  then  giving  their  Jirst  audi- 
ence of  state.  Cornelius  and  Voltimond 
are  dispatched  to  Norway ;  the  suit  of 
Laertes  is  heard  and  granted;  and  Ham- 
let,   who    was    not   to    be   trusted    abroad^ 


A   Revietu   of  Hamlet 


forbidden  to  return  to  Wittenberg.  Most 
assuredly,  it  is  Hamlet's  first  public  reap- 
pearance. Since  his  father's  funeral,  he 
has  lived  in  the  strictest  seclusion,  or  he 
could  not  else  be  ignorant  of  Horatio's 
presence  in  Elsinore.  It  may  be  as  well 
to  remember  this ;  for  the  play  is  so  ellip- 
tical, that  one  is  apt  to  marvel  why  the  two 
friends  have  not  sooner  met.  Some  hint 
of  Hamlet's  having  been  summoned  to 
Court  to  be  publicly  warned  from  re- 
entering the  University,  must  have  leaked 
out,  or  we  should  scarcely  have  Marcellus 
saying  — 

And  I  this  morning  know 
Where  we  shall  find  him  most  conveniently. 

Horatio  respected  the  Prince's  privacy 
until  forced  by  love  and  duty  to  invade  it. 
But  he  could  scarcely  have  been  prepared 
for  the  sad  change  in  his  schoolmate.  He, 
as  well  as  Ophelia,  had  only  known  him  as 

The  courtier's,  soldier's,  scholar's,  eye,  tongue, 
sword  ; 

19 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


The  expectancy  and  Rose  of  the  fair  state, 
The  glass  of  fashion  and  the  mould  of  form, 


<The  observ'd  of  all  observers. 


With  too  much  reason,  Hamlet  had  lost 
all  trust  in  his  mother ;  and  when  we  cease 
to  trust  our  mothers,  we  cease  to  trust  hu- 
manity. Hamlet  belonged  to  that  middle 
circle  of  the  Sons  of  Light,  who  become 
cynics,  instead  of  villains,  in  adversity. 
Characters  of  perfect  sincerity,  of  exhaust^ 
less  tenderness,  of  ready  trust,  when  once 
deceived  by  the  few  that  were  dearest,  be- 
come irrevocably  mistrustful  of  all.  Your 
commonplace  neighbor  who  knows  himself 
a  sham,  accepts,  perhaps  prefers,  a  society 
of  shams  ;  has  no  idea  of  being  very  true 
to  anybody,  or  of  anybody's  being  very  true 
to  him  ;  leads  a  sham  life  and  dies  a  sham 
death,  — as  near  as  the  latter  achievement 
is  possible,  —  leaving  a  set  of  sham  mourn- 
ers behind  him.  But  the  heart  whose  per- 
fect insight  is  blinded  only  by  its  perfect 
love,   once   fooled   in   its    tenderest  faith. 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


must  be  either  saint  or  cynic  ;  must  belong  | 
either  to  God  or  to  doubt  forevermore. 
A  blighted  gentleness  is  as  savage  in  the 
expression  of  its  scorn  as  your  born  mis- 
anthropist or  your  natural  villain ;  save 
that  the  hatred  of  the  one  is  for  vice,  and 
cant,  and  cunning,  of  the  other  for  credulity 
and  virtue ;  save  that  the  last  is  cruel  in 
word  and  deed,  the  first  in  word  alone. 

Yet  Hamlet  is  less  a  cynic  than  a  satir- 
ist, and  less  a  satirist  than  a  Nemesis. 
Though  merciless  in  plucking  the  mask 
from  a  knave,  a  villain,  or  a  fool,  yet  the 
dormant  tenderness  which  underlies  his 
character,  flashes  fitfully  out  through  his 
int'erviews  with  his  mother,  Laertes  and 
Polonius,  as  well  as  being  steadily  mani- 
fest in  his  unquestioning  trust  in  Horatio 
after  their  reunion.  For  such  a  thorough 
political  change  has  overshadowed  Den- 
mark, that  their  meeting  is  rather  a  spirit- 
ual reunion  than  an  interview.  By  the 
inexorable  logic  of  events,  Hamlet  is 
ranged  against  the  throne,  the  conspicuous 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


head  and  front  of  a  moral  opposition,  an 
inevitable,  though  passive,  rebel.  If  Ho- 
ratio is  loyal^  no  matter  what  their  previous 
friendship,  they  are  thenceforth  foes.  One 
must  have  lived  through  civil  war  to  ap- 
preciate the  dexterous  nicety  with  which 
Hamlet  feels  his  former  friend.  And  yet 
this  early  association  of  excessive  mistrust 
with  excessive  morbidity,  inclines  us  to  sus- 
pect that  the  subsequent  shock  of  the  Ghost 
was  rather  an  arrest  of  the  slow  degener- 
ation of  fixed  melancholy  into  madness, 
than  an  aggravation  of  antecedent  lunacy. 

(Enter  Horatio,  Marcellus,  and  Bernardo.) 

Hor.       Hail  to  your  lordship. 

Ham.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  : 

Horatio,  —  or  I  do  forget  myself. 
Hor.      The    same,    my     lord,    and    your    poor 

servant  ever. 
Ham.     Sir,  my  good   friend,  —  I  '11  change  that 
name  with  you  : 
Jnd   what    make  you  from     Wittenberg^ 

Horatio  f  — 
Marcellus  ? 


A  Reviciu  of  Hamlet 


Mar.      My  good  lord  — 

Ham.     1  am    very    glad    to    see    you.  —  Good 
even,  Sir.  — 
But    whaty   in    faith  ^    make    you    from 
Wittenberg  ? 
Hor.      A  truant  disposition  good  my  lord. 
Ham.     I  would  not  hear  your  enemy  say  so, 

Nor  shall  you  do  mine  ear  that  violence, 
To  make  it  truster  of  your  ovi^n  report 
Against  yourself.      I    know  you  are  no 

truant. 
But  what  is  your  affair  in  Elsinore  ? 

For  the  third  time.  And  see  the  dark 
hinting  in  the  next  line  at  the  royal '  rouse  ' 
and  *  wassail ; '  at  the  orgies  of  the  scan- 
dalous wedding  —  as  if  Horatio  might  pos- 
sibly have  come  to  share  the?n. 

We  '11  teach  you  to  drink  deep  ere  you  depart. 

Horatio  instantly  detects  and  answers  the 
inuendo. 

My    lord,    I  came  to  see  your  father's 
funeral. 

23 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


Ham.     I   pray  thee,    do  not  mock  me,  fellow- 
student  ; 
I    think    it    was    to    see     my    mother's 
wedding. 

Hor.       Indeed^  my  lord.,  it  follovf  d  hard  upon. 

Even  this  little,  from  a  man  like  Horatio, 
is  enough  ;  they  are  on  the  same  side,  rebels 
both.  Quick  as  lightning  the  glance  is 
given  and  returned ;  he  can  trust  Marcel- 
lus  and  Bernardo  too,  and  bares  his  heart 
to  them  with  a  fierce  sigh  of  relief. 

Thrift,     thrift,     Horatio  !     the     funeral 

baked  meats 
Did    coldly   furnish    forth    the  marriage 

tables. 
Would    I    had    met  my    dearest  foe  in 

Heaven 
Ere  ever  I  had  seen  that  day,  Horatio. 
My  father,  —  methinks  I  see  my  father. 
Hor.      O  where,  my  lord  ? 
Ham.     In  my  mind's  eye,  Horatio. 
Hor.      I  saw  him  once;   he  was  a  goodly  King. 
Ham.    He  was  a  man,  take  him  for  all  in  all, 
I  shall  not  look  upon  his  like  again. 
24 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


This  brief  introduction  to  the  main  theme 
is  inimitable.  How  exquisitely  the  ear 
is  made  to  long  for  Horatio's  blunt 
transition  : 

My  lord,  I  think  I  saw  him  yesternight. 
Ham.     Saw  !    who  ? 
Hor.      My  lord,  the  King,  your  father. 
Ham.  The  King,  my  father  ! 

Hor.      Season  your  admiration  for  awhile 

With  an  attent  ear,  till  I  may  deliver. 

Upon  the  witness  of  these  gentlemen, 

This  marvel  to  you. 

Instead  of  being  unnerved  by  the  story, 
the  Prince  is  calm,  collected,  determined  ; 
cautious,  reticent,  and  longing  for  night. 
He  dismisses  them  with  the  stately  cour- 
tesy which  distinguishes  him  throughout 
the  play ;  enjoining  silence  and  promising 
to  share  their  watch  betwixt  eleven  and 
twelve. 

Once  more  on  the  Platform  before  the 
Castle,  the  poet's  verse  resumes  the  awful 
minor  in  which  his  tragic  preludes  are  so 
often  conceived. 

25 


A   Review  of  Harnlet 


(Enter  Hamlet,  Horatio,  and  Marcellus.) 

Ham.  The  air  bites  shrewdly  ;  it  is  very  cold. 

Hor.  It  is  a  nipping  and  an  eager  air. 

Ham.  What  hour  now  ? 

Hor.  I  think  it  lacks  of  twelve. 

Mar.  No,  it  is  struck. 

Hor.      Indeed  ?     I  heard  it  not  :    then  it  draws 
near  the  season 
Wherein  the    spirit    held    his    wont    to 
walk. 

(Ajlourish  of  trumpets^  and  ordnance  shot  off  within.) 

What  does  this  mean,  my  lord  ? 
Ham.     The  King  doth  wake  to-night,  and  takes 
his  rouse. 
Keeps  wassail,  and  the  swaggering  up- 

spring  reels ; 
And  as  he  drains  his  draughts  of  Rhenish 

down. 
This  kettle-drum  and  trumpet  thus  bray 

out 
The  triumph  of  his  pledge. 
Hor.  Is  it  a  custom  ? 

Ham.     Ay,  marry  is  it  : 

But  to  my  mind,  —  though  I  am  native 
here, 

26 


A   Revteiv  of  Htnnlet 


And  to  the  manner  born  —  it  is  a  custom 
More  honoured    in  the   breach  than  the 
observance. 

We  have  quoted  the  whole  scene  up  to 
this  pouit,  because  just  here  occurs  the 
first  serious  conflict  between  the  Quarto 
of  1604  and  the  Folio.  The  twenty-two 
lines  that  follow  in  the  modern  text  on 
the  authority  of  the  Quarto,  are  wanting 
in  the  Folio.  As  the  Folio  afterward 
omits  nearly  the  whole  Fourth  Scene  of 
the  Fourth  Act ;  and  as  the  larger  omis- 
sion involves  almost  essentially  the  charac- 
ter of  Hamlet  himself,  we  propose  to 
inquire  in  advance  whether  these  large 
omissions  on  the  part  of  the  Folio  are 
deliberate  or  accidental. 

*  Previous  to  the  publication  of  the 
Folio  edition  of  Shakespeare's  dramatic 
works  in  1623,  under  the  auspices  of  his 
fellow-actors,  Heminge  and  Condell,'  says 
Mr.  Dyce  in  his  Preface,  *  seventeen  of 
his  plays  had  appeared  in  Quarto  at 
various  dates.  The  Folio  of  1623  in- 
27 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


eludes,  with  the  exception  of  Pericles,  the 
plays  which  had  previously  appeared  in 
quarto,  and  twenty  others,  which  till  then 
had  remained  in  manuscript.  Though 
these  quartos  —  the  Hamlet  of  1604 
amongst  them  —  found  their  way  to  the 
press  without  either  the  consent  of  the  author 
or  of  the  managers,  it  is  certain  that  nearly 
all  of  them  were  printed,  with  more  or  less 
correctness  and  completeness,  from  tran- 
scripts of  the  theatre.'  It  must  be  con- 
ceded, that  the  Quarto  of  1 604  is  especially 
correct ;  but  still  the  original,  or  standard, 
from  which  it  was  taken,  remained,  of 
course,  in  the  hands  of  Heminge  and 
Condell,  who  represented  the  management. 
Now,  it  cannot  be  doubted,  that  Heminge 
and  Condell  must  have  been  perfectly 
familiar  with  a  'stolen  and  surreptitious 
copy  *  published  right  under  their  eyes  in 
Fleet  street,  at  the  very  time  they  were 
acting  the  Play.  They  must  not  only 
have  been  conversant  with  a  copy  which 
they  specifically  denounce,  but,  as  old 
28 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


'  fellows  of  the  Blackfriars,'  they  must 
have  had  the  true  version  at  their  fingers' 
ends.  So  that  if  the  Folio  fail  to  repro- 
duce a  conspicuous  passage  of  length 
contained  in  a  previous  Quarto,  the  fair- 
est inference  would  seem  to  be,  that  the 
passage  is  either  spurious  or  subsequently 
condemned  and  erased  by  their  associate 
Shakespeare  himself,  or  at  his  instance. 
For  it  is  inconceivable  that  two  friends 
and  fellow-actors  of  Shakespeare's  honor- 
ably distinguished  in  his  will^  however  guilty 
of  minor  inaccuracies,  could  have  been  so 
inconceivably  negligent  as  to  overlook,  or 
so  unconscientious  as  to  suppress,  without 
the  author's  warrant,  any  genuine,  accepted, 
standard,  salient  portion  of  a  leading  part 
—  least  of  all,  the  leading  part  of  Hamlet. 
The  temptation  was  all  the  other  way  — 
to  expansion,  not  contraction.  The  title 
page  of  the  Quarto  of  1 604  professes  to 
give  the  play  '  enlarged  to  almost  as  much 
again  as  it  was,  according  to  the  true  and 
perfect  Coppie.'  The  editors  of  the 
29 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


Folio  were  quite  as  anxious  to  exhibit  the 
writings  of  their  departed  friend,  '  cured 
and  perfect  of  their  limbs '  and  *  absolute 
in  their  numbers.'  Even  the  'unex- 
ampled carelessness'  of  Blount,  the  sup- 
posed supervisor  of  the  press  copy 
'handed  over  to  him  by  Heminge  and 
Condell,'  dared  not  wilfully  ignore  a 
striking  scene  made  still  more  memorable 
by  a  long  Soliloquy.  The  twenty-two 
lines  in  question,  as  well  as  the  scene  in 
the  Fourth  Act,  although  introduced  at 
the  earlier  rehearsals,  must  therefore  have 
been  silenced  in  the  standard  copy.  And 
by  the  standard  copy,  we  mean  the  acting 
copy  matured  under  Shakespeare's  own 
eye,  and  consecrated  by  his  final  imprim- 
atur. At  all  events,  the  stolen  Quarto 
of  1604  cannot  possibly  dictate  the  final 
aspect  of  a  drama  whose  author  lived 
twelve  years  after  its  first  surreptitious 
publication.  We  must  look  to  the  Folio 
for  the  latest  phase  of  Shakespeare's 
manuscripts ;  and,  faulty  as  it  may  be  in 
30 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


minor  matters,  we  cannot  but  regard  a 
significant  and  palpably  deliberate  omis- 
sion conclusive  against  the  Quarto,  in  the 
absence  of  direct  proof,  or  the  very 
strongest  intrinsic  evidence  to  the  con- 
trary. 

But  in  the  case  before  us,  and  in  the 
vastly  more  important  omission  in  the 
Fourth  Act,  the  intrinsic  evidence  sustains 
the  Folio.     After 

—  it  is  a  custom 
More  honoured  in  the  breach  than  the  obser- 
vance, 

the  following  lines  are  omitted  in  the 
Folio  : 

This  heavy-headed  revel  east  and  west 

Makes  us  traduc'd  and  tax'd  of  other  nations : 

They   clepe    us    drunkards,   and    with    swinish 

phrase 
Soil  our  addition;   and,  indeed,  it  takes 
From    our   achievements,   though    perform'd  at 

height, 
The  pith  and  marrow  of  our  attribute. 
3» 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


So,  oft  it  chances  in  particular  men, 

That,  for  some  vicious  mole  of  nature  in  them, 

As  in  their  birth  (wherein  they  are  not  guilty. 

Since  nature  cannot  choose  his  origin,) 

By  their  o'ergrowth  of  some  complexion. 

Oft    breaking    down    the    pales    and    forts    of 

reason  ; 
Or   by  some  habit  that    too  much  o'erleavens 
The    form    of  plausive  manners ;  —  that   these 

men  — 
Carrying,  I  say,  the  stamp  of  one  defect. 
Being  nature's  livery  or  fortune's  star,  — 
Their  virtues  else,  (be  they  as    pure  as   grace. 
As  infinite  as  man  may  undergo) 
Shall    in   the    general   censure   take   corruption 
From  that  particular  fault :     the  dram   of  eale 
Doth  all  the  noble  substance  often  doubt 
To  his  own  scandal. 

'  The  dram  of  ;// 

Doth  all  the  noble  substance  throw  in  doubt,* 

seems  to  be  the  meaning  of  the  line. 

Possibly    the    passage   is   genuine :     an 

overflow  of  Shakespeare's  boundless  wealth 

of  thought  and  imagery.      But  it  is  asking 

too  much,  even  of  Hamlet,  to  moralize 

32 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


at  such  length  at  such  a  moment.  Moral- 
izing to  such  little  purpose,  too,  in  a 
feeble  disquisition  that  soon  degenerates 
from  parenthetical  confusion  into  hopeless 
bewilderment.  It  may  indeed  be  urged 
in  support  of  the  disquisition,  that  it  pro- 
longs the  suspense;  that  it  gives  the  three 
watchers  better  opportunities  of  action  ; 
that  Hamlet  does  not  expect  to  be  listened 
to,  in  fact,  is  not  half  listening  to  himself, 
—  and  hence,  in  the  gradual  entanglement 
of  the  discourse,  we  have  only  another 
miracle  of  Shakespeare's  genius ;  that,  all 
the  while,  Horatio  and  Marcellus  can  be 
glancing  back  into  the  midnight  for  the 
ghostly  confirmation  of  their  story  ;  that 
Hamlet  himself,  with  eye  aslant,  dimly 
perceived  the  coming  apparition  while 
stammering  out  that  impotent  conclusion  ; 
that  Horatio's  '' Look^  my  lord^  it  comes!' 
besides  being  the  rhythmical  complement 
of  '  To  his  own  scandal,'  is  too  bald  and 
abrupt,  and  cannot  directly  follow  *  More 
honoured  in  the  breach  than  the  observ- 
3  33 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


ance^    without  violating  the  very  soul  of 
verse. 

But  strong  as  this  plea  is  for  the  passage, 
there  is  a  stronger  one  against  it :  it  is 
weak.  Not,  by  any  means,  that  the  youth 
who  could  so  calmly  moralize  at  such  a 
crisis  is  weak,  but  that  the  disquisition 
itself,  good  as  it  may  be,  is  not  good 
enough  for  Hamlet  —  that  the  staple 
thought  is  not  up  to  the  mark  of  that 
divine  intellect ;  that  it  gives  an  undue 
preponderance  to  the  meditative  element 
in  that  complicated  character;  that  it 
begets  a  vague  impression  of  feebleness  at 
variance  with  the  radical  conception  of  the 
part;  that  it  is  clearly  unequal  to  the  rest 
of  the  scene,  and  a  blot  on  the  magnifi- 
cent sphere  of  thought  and  action  by 
which  it  is  followed :  that,  although  per- 
mitting a  little  side  play,  which  could 
have  been  better  attained,  were  it  worth 
while,  by  a  brief  hurried  dialogue,  it 
darkens  the  coming  splendor,  and  hovers 
like  a  pall  over  that  radiant  afterflash  — 
34 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


Angels  and  ministers  of  grace,  defend  us  !^ 

In  fact  there  is  almost  an  intrinsic  certainty 
that  the  poet  cut  out  the  passage  without 
ferfectly  reuniting  the  broken  thread.  And 
the  wonder  is,  not  that  this  small  neglect 
should  occur — not  that  in  the  develop- 
ment of  a  character  so  intricate,  so  refined, 
so  subtle,  an  incongruity  should  arise, — 
but  that  one  or  two  bold  erasures  should 
leave  the  portraiture  symmetrical  and 
complete. 

In  reply  to  Hamlet's  invocation,  the 
Ghost  merely  beckons.  Grand,  deathless 
words  —  much  fearful,  passionate  striving 
must  ensue  before  the  mighty  phantom  is 
permitted  to  speak. 

Hor.     It  beckons  you  to  go  away  with  it, 

As  if  it  some  impartment  did  desire 

To  you  alone. 
Mar.  Look,  with  what  courteous  action 

It  waves  you  to  a  more  removed  ground  ; 

But  do  not  go  with  it. 
Hor.  No,  by  no  means. 

35 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


Ham.   It  will  not  speak  ;  then  will  I  follow  it. 

Hor.      Do  not,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Why,  what  should  be  the  fear  ? 

I  do  not  set  my  life  at  a  pin's  fee  ; 
And  for   my  soul,  what  can   it  do  to  that, 
Being  a  thing  immortal  as  itself? 

How  the  two  soldiers  at  his  side — how 
even  the  beckoning  majesty  of  buried 
Denmark  —  are  dwarfed  by  this  sublime 
challenge  flashed  from  the  living  to  the 
dead. 

Ham.  It  waves  me  still.  — 

Go  on  ;   I  '11  follow  thee. 
Mar.    You  shall  not  go,  my  lord. 
Ham.  Hold  off  your  hands. 

Hor.      Be  rul'd;  you  shall  not  go. 
Hain.  My  fate  cries  out. 

And  makes  each  petty  artery  in  this  body 
As  hardy  as  the    Nemean  lion's  nerve. 

(^Ghost  beckons.') 
Still    am    1   call'd;     unhand   me,  gentle- 
men,—  (^Breaking  from  them.) 
By  heaven,   I  '11    make    a  ghost  of  him 

that  lets  me  :  — 
I  say,  away !  —  Go  on  ;   I  '11  follow  thee. 
36 


A   Revietv  of  Hamlet 


The  friendly  grasp  Is  paralyzed  less  by  an 
exertion  of  the  Nemean  lion's  nerve  than 
by  the  superhuman  fitness  and  intellec- 
tual glare  of  the  threat.  It  is  a  spiritual 
thunderbolt. 

The  scene  shifts.  Deeper  gloom, 
deeper  horror:  a  place  to  put  toys  of 
desperation  into  every  brain.  Once  more 
the  Ghost — Hamlet  following,  haggard, 
breathless:  young  life  taxed  to  the  utter- 
most in  its  proud  grapple  with  the 
walking  grave ;  matchless  intellect  well 
nigh  strained  to  utter  overthrow  by  the 
terrors  of  this  phantom  chase;  that  voice- 
less, armed  spirit,  the  still,  unpeopled 
midnight,  and  the  doomed  boy  of 
Wittenberg ! 

After  such  profound  elaboration  and  sus- 
pense, the  great  difficulty,  now  that  the 
Ghost  must  speak,  is  to  find  adequate  words 
for  him  ;  to  make  his  language  as  effective 
and  unearthly  as  his  bearing ;  to  give  him 
voice  without  damaging  or  destroying  the 
Illusion.  This  Is  so  perfectly  managed, 
37 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


however,  that  the  spectre,  instead  of  losing 
in  effect,  becomes  still  more  spectral  by  its 
long  revelation.  The  instant  the  figure 
advances  into  broader  light,  the  back- 
ground deepens  into  darker  mystery. 

Ham.     Where  wilt  thou  lead  me  ?     Speak;   I'll 

go  no  further. 
Ghost.    Mark  me. 
Ham.  I  will. 

Ghost.  My  hour  is  almost  come, 

When   I   to  sulphurous  and  tormenting 

flames 
Must  render  up  myself. 
Ham.  Alas,  poor  ghost ! 

Ghost.    Pity  me  not,  but  lend  thy  serious  hearing 

To  what  I  shall  unfold. 
Ham.  Speak ;    I    am    bound 

to  hear. 
Ghost.    So  art  thou  to  revenge,  when  thou  shalt 
hear. 

But  that  I  am  forbid 

To  tell  the  secrets  of  my  prison-house, 
I  could  a  tale  unfold,  whose  lightest  word 
Would   harrow  up  thy  soul ;  freeze  thy 
young  blood, 
38 


A   Reviezu  of  Hamlet 


Make  thy  two  eyes,  like  stars,  start  from 

their  spheres  ; 
Thy  knotted  and  combined  locks  to  part. 
And  each  particular  hair  to  stand  on  end 
Like  quills  upon  the  fretful  porcupine. 
But  this  eternal  blazon  must  not  be 
To  ears  of  flesh  and  blood. 

Observe  with  what  oracular  antithesis  the 
climax  of  the  story  is  put : 

But  know,  thou  noble  youth, 
The  serpent  that  did  sting  thy  father's  life 
Now  wears  his  crown. 

Observe  the  sepulchral  iteration  : 


and  again,  — 

Revenge   his    foul   and    most   unnatural 
murder. 
Ham.     Murder ! 
Ghost.    Murder  most  foul,  as  in  the  best  it  is : 

But  this  most  foul,  strange, and  unnatural. 

and  again,  — 

O  horrible  !   O  horrible  !  most  horrible ! 
39 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


and  still  again, — 

Adieu,  adieu  !      Hamlet,  remember  me. 

Observe,  too,  how,  just  when  the  language 
mellows  into  mortal  music,  and  the  phan- 
tom threatens  to  become  too  intensely 
human,  the  torchlight  of  the  supernatural 
comes  slanting  in: 

0  Hamlet,  what  a  falling  off  was  there  ! 
From  me  whose  love  was  of  the  dignity, 
That  it  went  hand  in  hand  even  with  the 

vow 

1  made  to  her  in  marriage  ;  and  to  decline 
Upon  a  wretch  whose  natural  gifts  were 

poor 
To  those  of  mine. 

But  virtue,  as  it  never  will  be  mov'd. 
Though  lewdness  court  it  in  a  shape  of 

heaven  ; 
So  lust,  though  to  a  radiant  angel  link'd. 
Will  sate  itself  in  a  celestial  bed, 
And  prey  on  garbage. 
But  soft !  methinks  I  scent  the  morning 

air. 

40 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


And  still  more  exquisitely, — 

Fare  thee  well  at  once  ! 
The  glow-worm  shows  the  matin  to  be 

near 
And  'gins  to  pale  his  uneffectual  fire. 

Observe,  too, —  and  this  is  the  most  won- 
derful feature  in  all  this  wonderful  business, 
—  how  true  the  spirit  keeps  to  both  its 
past  and  its  present  existence  ;  how  doubly 
faithful  to  the  world  and  to  the  grave : 

No    reckoning    made,    but  sent    to    my 

account 
With  all  my  imperfections  on  my  head. 

If  thou  hast  nature  in  thee,  bear  it  not. 
Let  not  the  royal  bed  of  Denmark  be 
A  couch  for  luxury  and  damned  incest. 
But,  howsoever  thou  pursu'st  this  act. 
Taint   not    thy   mind,  nor   let    thy  soul 

contrive 
Against  thy  mother  aught :   leave  her  to 

heaven, 

41 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


And  to  those  thorns  that  in  her  bosom 

lodge, 
To  prick  and  sting  her.     Fare  thee  well 

at  once. 

How  piteous,  this  chivalrous  tenderness 
clinging  even  in  the  tomb  to  a  lost,  worth- 
less idol  ! 

Amidst  all  the  emotions  with  which 
Hamlet  is  simultaneously  overwhelmed  by 
the  interview,  the  first  to  assert  itself  defi- 
nitely is  pity.  One  brief  appeal  to  heaven, 
earth,  and  hell,  —  one  call  on  heart  and 
sinews  to  bear  him  stifily  up,  —  then  pity, 
pure  and  profound.  And,  at  such  a  mo- 
ment, the  capacity  to  pity  reveals  an  almost 

infinite  strength. 

Remember  thee ! 
Ay,  thou  poor  ghost^  while  memory  holds  a  seat 
In  this  distracted  globe  —  Remember  thee  ! 
Yea,  from  the  table  of  my  memory 
I  '11  wipe  away  all  trivial  fond  records 
That  youth  and  observation  copied  there ; 
And  thy  commandment  all  alone  shall  live 
Within  the  book  and  volume  of  my  brain, 
Unmixed  with  baser  matter;  yes,  by  heaven. 
42 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


Up  to  this  point  nothing  can  be  saner. 
But  just  here,  for  a  single  second,  his  '  dis- 
tracted '  brain  gives  way,  as  the  vision  of 
the  '  smiling,  damned  villain  '  replaces  that 
of  the  vanished  ghost. 

.  .  ^ 

O  most  pernicious  woman  !      '^-— ^ 

0  villain,  villain,  smiling,  damn6d  villain. 
J  My  tables,  —  meet  it  is  I  set  it  down. 

That  one  may  smile,  and  smile,  and  be  a  villain  ; 
At  least   I  'm  sure  it  may  be  so  in   Denmark : 

So,  uncle,  there  you  are.     Now  to  my  word  ; 
It  is,  "Adieu,  adieu  !   remember  me  :" 

1  have  sworn  't. 

Whatever  may  be  thought  of  the  words, 
the  action  —  that  doomed  figure,  crouching 
over  its  tables  in  the  dim  midnight,  —  is 
a  flash  of  positive  madness,  brief  as  light- 
ning, but  as  terrible  too.  In  this  moment 
of  supreme  trial,  his  mind  gives  way  :  the 
remainder  of  the  act  is  a  struggle  to  restore 
the  lost  equilibrium.  And  in  all  the  annals 
of  tragedy,  there  is  nothing  half  so  fright- 
ful as  this  tremendous  conflict  of  a  godlike 
43 


A   Revietu   of  Hamlet 


reason  battling  for  its  throne  against  Titanic 
terror  and  despair,  Lear  is  comparatively 
an  easy  victim.  The  transition  from  se- 
nility to  dotage,  from  dotage  to  frenzy, 
owing  to  its  milder  contrasts  cannot  be  as 
appalling  as  the  sharp  conflict  between 
mind  in  its  morning  splendor,  and  the 
hurricane  eclipse  of  sudden  lunacy.  The 
first  soliloquy  revealed  a  predisposition  to 
madness ;  but  here  the  man  actually  goes 
mad  before  our  eyes  — just  as  Lear  goes 
mad  before  our  eyes,  save  that  instead  of 
lapsing  into  fixed  insanity  like  the  old  King, 
^Hamlet  emerges  from  the  storm,  radiant, 
'calm,  convalescent,  victorious,  but  with  a 
jscar  which  he  carries  to  his  dying  day. 

But  will  you  call  him  weak  because  his 
reason  sinks  awhile  beneath  the  double 
pressure  of  natural  anguish  and  supernatu- 
ral terror  ?  Was  Macbeth  weak  ?  Yet, 
in  his  own  lighted  halls,  how  quite  un- 
manned in  folly  one  glimpse  of  the  blood- 
boltered  Banquo  makes  him.  Not  till  the 
horrible  shadow  is  gone,  is  Macbeth  a  man 
4+ 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


again  ;  not  till  tlie  questionable  shape  that 
makes  night  hideous  departs,  does  the 
braver  soul  of  Hamlet  betray  its  exhaus- 
tion ;  and  then  only  after  a  long  sigh  of 
pity!  Was  Richard  weak?  Yet  in  the 
milder  midnight  of  his  tent,  how  '  the  cold, 
fearful  drops  stand  on  his  trembling  flesh,' 
before  those  phantoms  of  a  dream. 

By  the  apostle  Paul,  shadows  to-night 
Have  struck  more  terror  to  the  soul  of  Richard, 
Than  can  the  substance  of  ten  thousand  soldiers 
Armed  in  proof,  and  led  by  shallow  Richmond. 

Yet  the  shapes  that  awed  those  men  of 
steel  were  but  coinage  of  the  brain  ;  unreal 
mockeries,  all ;  while  Hamlet  confronts, 
and  confronts  unappalled,  a  well-authenti- 
cated ghost  —  a  ghost  as  visible  to  Horatio, 
Marcellus,  and  Bernardo,  as  to  himself. 
Nor  should  his  comparative  sinlessness 
affect  our  estimate  of  their  relative  courage. 
The  walking  ghost  of  a  murdered  king, 
fresh  from  the  glare  of  penal  fires,  swear- 
ing an  only  son  to  vengeance,  must  be 
45 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


quite  as  trying  to  the  soul  of  innocence, 
as  the  chimeras  of  remorse  to  the  nerves  of 
guilt.  If  Hamlet's  reason  is  momentarily 
dethroned,  it  is  only  to  reassert  its  suprem- 
acy—  only  to  pass  triumphantly  through 
the  ordeal  of  delirious  reaction.  For  that 
moment  of  madness  has  its  sure  sequel  of 
delirium,  —  a  delirium  that  could  only 
have  flowed  from  an  antecedent  moment 
of  madness.  The  exhibition  of  this  deli- 
rium is  the  crowning  achievement  of  the 
Act,  of  the  Play,  —  of  all  dramatic  art.  See 
how  he  staggers  back  with  '  wild  and  whirl- 
ing words '  from  the  perilous  edges  of 
madness ;  see  how  dexterously,  yet  gro- 
tesquely, he  baffles  the  pardonable  curios- 
ity of  his  companions  ;  see  how  he  jests 
and  laughs  over  the  sepulchral  *  Swear  !  ' 
of  the  fellow  in  the  cellarage,  lest  sheer 
horror  should  compel  his  friends  to  di- 
vulge their  ghastly  secret. 

Hor.     My  lord,  my  lord,  — 
Mnr.  Lord  Hamlet, — 

Hor.      (^IVithin.')  Heaven  secure  him  ! 

46 


A   Revietv  of  Hamlet 


Mar.     {JVithin.)  So  be  it! 

Hor.      {IFithin.)  Illo,  ho,  ho,  my  lord  ! 

Ham.     Hillo,  ho,  ho,  boy  !   come,  bird,  come. 

Enter  Horatio  and  Marcellus. 

Mar.     How  is  't  my  noble  lord  ? 
Hor.  What  news,  my  lord  ? 

Ham.    O  wonderful ! 

Hor.  Good  my  lord,  tell  it. 

Ham.    No  ;   you  '11  reveal  it. 
Hor.      Not  I,  my  lord,  by  heaven. 
Mar.  Nor  I,  my  lord. 

Ham.     How  say  you,  then  ;  would  heart  of  man 
once  think  it  ? 
But  you  '11  be  secret. 
Hor.  Mar.  Ay,  by  heaven,  my  lord. 

Ham.    There's   ne'er  a  villain  dwelling   in  all 
Denmark 
But  he  's  an  arrant  knave. 
Hor.     There  needs  no  ghost,  my  lord,  come  from 
the  grave 
To  tell  us  this. 
Ham.  Why  right ;  you  are  i'  the 

right ; 
And  so,  without  more  circumstance  at  all, 
I  hold  it  fit  that  we  shake  hands  and  part : 
47 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


quite  as  trying  to  the  soul  of  innocence, 
as  the  chimeras  of  remorse  to  the  nerves  of 
guilt.  If  Hamlet's  reason  is  momentarily 
dethroned,  it  is  only  to  reassert  its  suprem- 
acy—  only  to  pass  triumphantly  through 
the  ordeal  of  delirious  reaction.  For  that 
moment  of  madness  has  its  sure  sequel  of 
delirium,  —  a  delirium  that  could  only 
have  flowed  from  an  antecedent  moment 
of  madness.  The  exhibition  of  this  deli- 
rium is  the  crowning  achievement  of  the 
Act,  of  the  Play,  —  of  all  dramatic  art.  See 
how  he  staggers  back  with  *  wild  and  whirl- 
ing words '  from  the  perilous  edges  of 
madness ;  see  how  dexterously,  yet  gro- 
tesquely, he  baffles  the  pardonable  curios- 
ity of  his  companions ;  see  how  he  jests 
and  laughs  over  the  sepulchral  ^  Swear  !  ' 
of  the  fellow  in  the  cellarage,  lest  sheer 
horror  should  compel  his  friends  to  di- 
vulge their  ghastly  secret. 

Hor.     My  lord,  my  lord,  — 
Mar.  Lord  Hamlet, — 

Hor.      (^IVithin.')  Heaven  secure  him  ! 

46 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


Mar.     (/r///^/«.)  Sobe  it! 

Hor.      {IFithin.)  Illo,  ho,  ho,  my  lord  ! 

Ham.     Hillo,  ho,  ho,  boy  !   come,  bird,  come. 

Enter  Horatio  and  Marcellus. 

Mar.     How  is  't  my  noble  lord  ? 
Hor.  What  news,  my  lord  ? 

Ham.    O  wonderful ! 
Hor.  Good  my  lord,  tell  it. 

Ham.    No  ;   you  '11  reveal  it. 
Hor.     Not  I,  my  lord,  by  heaven. 
Mar.  Nor  I,  my  lord. 

Ham.     How  say  you,  then  ;  would  heart  of  man 
once  think  it  ? 
But  you  '11  be  secret. 
Hor.  Alar.  Ay,  by  heaven,  my  lord. 

Ham.     There's   ne'er  a  villain   dwelling   in  all 
Denmark 
But  he  's  an  arrant  knave. 
Hor.     There  needs  no  ghost,  my  lord,  come  from 
the  grave 
To  tell  us  this. 
Ham.  Why  right ;  you  are  i'  the 

right ; 
And  so,  without  more  circumstance  at  all, 
I  hold  it  fit  that  we  shake  hands  and  part : 
47 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


You,  as  your  business  and   desire   shall 

point  you, 
For  every  man  has  business  and  desire, 
Such  as  it  is  :  and  for  mine  own  poor  part, 
Look  you,  I  '11  go  pray. 
Hor.     These  are  but  wild  and  whirling  words, 

my  lord. 
Ham.     I  'm  sorry  they  offend  you,  heartily  ; 

Yes,  faith,  heartily. 
Hor.  There  's    no  offence,  my 

lord. 
Ham.     Yes,    by    Saint    Patrick,    but    there   is, 
Horatio, 
And  much  offence  too.      Touching  this 

\      vision  here. 
It  is  an  honest  ghost,  that  let  me  tell  you  : 
For  your  desire  to  know  what  is  between 

us, 
O'ermaster't  as   you  may.     And    now, 

good  friends. 
As  you  are  friends,  scholars  and  soldiers. 
Give  me  one  poor  request. 
Hor.  What  is  't,  my  lord  ?    We 

will. 
Ham.    Never  make  known  what  you  have  seen 
to-night. 

48 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


Hor.  Mar.    My  lord,  we  will  not. 

Ham.  Nay,  but  swear 't. 

Hor.  In  faith, 

My  lord,  not  I. 
Mar.  Nor  I,  my  lord,  in  faith. 

Ham.     Upon  my  sword. 
Alar.  We  have  sworn,  my  lord, 

already. 
Ham.     Indeed  upon  my  sword,  indeed. 
Ghost.    (Beneath.')  Swear  ! 

Ham.     Ah,  ha,  boy  !   say'st   thou    so  ?  art   thou 
there,  truepenny. 
Come  on,  —  you  hear  this  fellow  in  the 

cellarage.  — 
Consent  to  swear. 
Hor.  Propose  the  oath,  my  lord. 

Ham.     Never  to  speak  of  this  that  you  have  seen. 

Swear  by  my  sword. 
Ghost.    {Beneath.)  Swear. 

Ha?n.     Hie    et    ubique  F     then    we  '11   shift    our 
ground.  — 
Come  hither,  gentlemen. 
And  lay  your  hands  again  upon  my  sword. 
Never  to  speak  of  this  that  you   have 

heard, 
Swear  by  my  sword. 
4  49 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


Ghost.    (^Beneath. ^  Swear. 

Ham.    Well  said,  old  Mole  !  canst  work  i'  the 
earth  so  fast  ?  — 

A  worthy    pioneer  !  —  Once    more    re- 
move, good  friends. 
Hor.      O  day  and   night,  but   this   is  wondrous 

strange  ! 
Ham.     And  therefore  as  a  stranger  give  it  wel- 
come. 

There  are   more  things  in   heaven   and 
earth,  Horatio, 

Than  are  dreamt  of  in  your  philosophy. 

But  come  :  — 

Here,    as    before,    never,   so    help    you 
mercy, 

How  strange  or  odd  soe'er  I   bear  my- 
self, — 

As   I,  perchance,   hereafter   shall   think 
meet 

To  put  an  antic  disposition  on, — 

That  you,  at  such  times  seeing  me,  never 
shall, 

With    arms    encumbered    thus,  or    this 
head-shake, 

Or  by   pronouncing   of   some   doubtful 
phrase, 

50 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


As  "  Well,  well,  we  know  "  :  or  "  We 

could  an  if  we  would  "; 
Or  "If  we  list  to  speak";  or  "There 

be,  an  if  they  might  "  ; 
Or  such  ambiguous  giving  out,  to  note 
That  you  know  aught  of  me  :  —  this  not 

to  do. 
So  grace  and  mercy  at  your  most  need 

help  you. 
Swear. 
Ghost.    (^Beneath.')  Swear. 

There  is  a  purpose  in  all  this  minute 
precaution.  One  unwary  syllable,  one  in- 
discreet hint  of  the  apparition,  and  instead 
of  becoming  an  avenger,  the  chances  are 
that  he  will  become  a  victim.  As  for  now 
sweeping  to  revenge  on  wings  as  swift  as 
meditation,  or  the  thoughts  of  love,  it  is 
simply  absurd.  His  mission  is  too  vast 
and  complicated  to  be  solved  in  one  fiery 
second  ;  his  life  is  no  longer  merely  conse- 
crated to  woe,  but  summoned  to  a  perilous 
and  unwelcome  duty.  That  grim,  ocular 
demonstration  of  the  existence  of  penal 
51 


A   Revieiv   of  Harnlet 


fires,  has  clogged  the  impulse  of  human 
revenge  with  a  salutary  appreciation  of 
eternal  justice.  The  future  is  vague  and 
hopeless,  but,  come  what  may,  he  means 
to  be  master  of  the  situation.  His  man- 
ner must  necessarily  change,  but  he  will 
mask  the  change  with  madness  —  an  easy 
mask  for  one  whose  whole  life  is  spent  in 
holding  real  madness  at  bay,  —  whose  rea- 
son would  be  lost  in  dark  abysses  of 
despair,  but  for  the  quenchless  truth  and 
splendor  of  an  imagination  which  encircles 
and  upholds  him  like  an  outstretched 
angel's  wing.  As  if  that  one  instant  of 
aberration  were  providentially  suggestive, 
*he  plays,'  as  Coleridge  observes,  'that 
subtle  trick  of  pretending  to  act  the  lunatic 
only  when  he  is  very  near  being  what  he 
pretends  to  act.'  It  is  not  the  past,  but  a 
clear  vision  of  the  future,  that  extorts  that 
prophetic  sigh. 

The  time  is  out  of  joint;   O  cursed  spite 
That  ever  I  was  born  to  set  it  right. 
52 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


The  inspiration  of  that  sigh  is  Ophelia  ; 
for,  as  we  shall  see,  the  gloom  of  that  first 
soliloquy  is  not  without  its  solitary  ray 
of  light. 

Now  mark  with  what  consummate  art 
it  happens,  that  on  the  very  eve  of  that 
fearful  midnight, —  precisely  as  Hamlet 
is  about  to  undergo  the  most  appalling 
ordeal  that  ever  man  sustained,  the  tragic 
muse  foreshadows  another  crowning  sor- 
row for  the  doomed  scion  of  Denmark. 
The  fair  Ophelia  is  made  to  flit  before 
us,  graceful,  reticent,  tender,  —  saying  the 
very  word  that's  wanted  and  nothing  more; 
witty,  high-bred,  resolute — just  such  a  lady 
as  such  a  prince  might  love, 

— '  whose  worth 
Stood  challenger  on  mount  of  all  the  age 
For  her  perfections  : ' 

a  *  Rose  of  May  '  that  turned 

*  to  favour  and  to  prettiness  ' 
*  Thought  and  affliction,  passion,  hell  itself.' 
53 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


What  a  lady  she  is !  How  archly  she 
turns  the  tables  on  her  light-headed,  loud- 
mouthed brother,  in  words  as  memorable 
as  any  in  the  play : 

But  good  my  brother, 
Do  not  as  some  ungracious  pastors  do, 
Show  me  the   steep  and  thorny   way  to 

heaven ; 
Whilst,  like  a  pufFd  and  reckless  liber- 
tine, 
Himself  the  primrose  path  of  dalliance 

treads. 
And  recks  not  his  own  read. 
Laer.  O  fear  me  not, 

I  stay  too  long. 

Too  long,  decidedly ;  that  home-thrust 
was  sharper  than  the  sword  of  Saladin. 
But  observe  how  differently  she  encoun- 
ters her  father;  though  infinitely  more 
insulted  and  nettled  by  the  broad  sar- 
casms of  the  Premier,  she  never  permits 
herself  to  be  stirred  an  inch  from  maidenly 
dignity,  or  to  violate  the  completest  filial 
respect  and  obedience. 
54 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


Pol.      What  is  't  Ophelia,  he  {Laertes)  hath  said 

to  you  ? 
Oph.  So    please    you,   something   touching   the 

Lord  Hamlet. 
Pol.      Marry,  well  bethought : 

'T  is  told  me,  he  hath  very  oft  of  late 
Given  private  time  to  you  ;  and  you  your- 
self 
Have  of  our  audience  been  most  free  and 
bounteous ; 


What   is  between  you  ?  give  me  up  the 
truth. 
Oph.   He  hath,  my  lord,  of   late,   made  many 
tenders 
Of  his  affection  for  me. 
Pol.     Affection  !   pooh  !  you  speak  like  a  green 

girl, 
Unsifted  in  such  perilous  circumstance. 
Do  you  believe   his  tenders   as   you    call 
them  !  — 
Opho  I   do    not  know  my   lord   what   I    should 

think. 
Pol.     Marry,  I  '11  teach  you ;  think   yourself  a 
baby  ; 

55 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


That  you   have  ta'en   these    tenders    for 

true  pay, 
Which  are  not  sterling.      Tender   your- 
self more  dearly ; 

Or you  '11  tender  me  a  fool. 

Oph.  My  lord,   he   hath    importuned    me  with 
love 
In  honourable  fashion. 
Pol.     Ay,  fashion  you  may  call  it ;  go  to,  go  to. 
Oph.   And  hath  given  countenance  to  his  speech, 
my  lord. 
With  almost  all  the  holy  vows  of  heaven. 
Pol.     Ay,  springes  to  catch  woodcocks  — 

—  From  this  time 
Be    somewhat    scanter    of    your    maiden 

presence  ; 
Set  your  entreatments  at  a  higher  rate  — 

Than  a  command  to  parley. 

This  is  for  all. 

I  would  not.,  in  plain   terms.,  from  this  time 

forth. 
Have  you  so  slander  any  moments  leisure.^ 
As  to  give   words    or  talk  with   the   Lord 

Hamlet. 
Look  to  '/,  /  charge  you  :   come  your  ways. 
Oph.   I  shall  obey.,  my  lord. 
56 


A  Revieiv  of  Hamlet 


Observe  that  it  is  of  late  he  hath  given 
private  time  to  her  ;  of  late  he  hath  made 
many  tenders  of  his  affection  ;  so  that  in 
spite  of  the  first  soliloquy,  in  spite  of  his 
wish  to  return  to  Wittenberg,  it  may  fairly 
be  inferred  that  elastic  youth  was  striving 
to  repair  its  first  great  sorrow,  with  its 
first  great  love,  —  that  the  *  O  cursed  spite  !  ' 
is  not  the  lament  of  a  laggard,  but  of  a 
lover.  And,  as  he  proudly  rallies  from 
the  agonies  of  that  eventful  midnight, 
asserting  a  quiet  mastery,  not  only  over 
his  two  friends,  but  over  the  impatient 
Ghost,  our  hearts  bleed  for  him,  as  we 
think  of  the  blow  that  Polonius  is  stealthily 
preparing. 

So  much  has  been  said  about  the  vacil- 
lation and  procrastination  of  this  much 
misrepresented  Prince,  that  one  would 
suppose  the  action  of  the  Play  consumed 
a  year  or  two.  Let  us  endeavor  to  fix 
the  extent  of  his  loitering. 

The  First  Act  occupies  exactly  twenty- 
four  hours.  The  interval  between  the 
57 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


First  and  Second  Acts  is  less  easily  deter- 
mined. Hamlet  himself  is  scarcely  an  au- 
thority as  to  time;  his  indignant  rhetoric 
openly  disclaims  fidelity  to  arithmetic. 
First,  his  father  had  been  *  two  months 
dead '  when  his  mother  re-married,  then 
*  not  two,'  then  *  within  a  month,'  *  a  little 
month  — '  and  finally  less  than  '  two  hours.' 
But  the  reiteration  of  the  same  numeral  is 
something ;  and  OpheUa  lets  us  know,  in 
the  Third  Act,  that  it  is  then  just  *  Twice 
two  months  '  since  the  regicide.  So,  allow- 
ing a  two  months'  widowhood  to  the 
Queen,  and  counting  some  weeks  or  days 
between  the  second  marriage  and  the  first 
appearance  of  the  spectre,  we  have  less 
than  two  months,  as  the  interval  between 
the  Acts  and  the  measure  of  Hamlet's  de- 
lay —  the  only  delay  with  which  he  can  be 
rationally  reproached,  since  after  the  killing 
of  Polonius  he  was  a  State  prisoner. 

The  First  and  Second  Acts,   however, 
are    so    inseparably   linked    in    horror  by 
Ophelia's  terrible  picture  of  her  interview 
58 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


with  her  discarded  lover,  that  it  is  difficult 
to  escape  the  impression  that  Hamlet 
stalked  straight  from  the  haunted  plat- 
form into  her  chamber. 

Pol.     How  now,  Ophelia  !     What 's  the  matter  ? 
Oph.  Alas,  my  lord,  I  have  been  so  affrighted  ! 
Pol.     With  what,  i'  the  name  of  God  ? 
Oph.   My  lord,  as  I  was  sewing  in  my  chamber. 
Lord   Hamlet,  —  with   his  doublet  all  un- 

brac'd, — 
No    hat    upon    his    head ;     his    stockings 

foul'd, 
Ungarter'd  and  down-gyved  to  his  ankle ; 
Pale  as  his  shirt;   his  knees  knocking  each 

other  ; 
And  with  a  look  so  piteous  in  purport 
As  if  he  had  been  loosed  out  from  hell 
To  speak  of  horrors, —  he  comes  before 
me. 
Pol.     Mad  for  thy  love  ? 
Oph.  My  lord,  I  do  not  know  ; 

But  truly  I  do  fear  it. 
Pol.  What  said  he  ? 

Oph.   He  took  me  by  the  wrist  and  held  me  hard ; 
Then  goes  he  to  the  length  of  all  his  arm; 
59 


A   Revieiu  of  Hamlet 


And  with  his  other  hand  thus  o'er  his  brow, 
He  falls  to  such  perusal  of  my  face 
As  he  would  draw  it.     Long  stay'd  he  so ; 
At  last,  —  a  little  shaking  of  mine  arm, 
And  thrice  his  head  thus  waving   up  and 

down, — 
He  rais'd  a  sigh  so  piteous  and  profound 
That  it  did  seem  to  shatter  all  his  bulk, 
And  end  his  being  :  that  done,  he  lets  me 

go 
And,   with    his    head   over   his    shoulders 

turn'd, 
'    He   seem'd   to  find   his   way  without  his 

eyes. 
For  out  o'  doors  he  went  without  their 

help, 
And,  to  the  last,  bended  their  light  on  me. 

We  are  not  permitted  to  see  Hamlet  in 
this  *  ecstacy  of  love.'  But  what  a  picture  ! 
What  vivid  detail !  What  awful  light  and 
shade !  How  he  must  have  loved  her, 
that  love  should  bring  him  to  such  a  pass  ? 
his  knees  knocking  each  other?  —  knees 
that  had  firmly  followed  a  beckoning  ghost, 
now  scarce  able  to  bear  him  to  his  Mistress' 
60 


A  Revinu  of  Hamlet 


chamber  !  There  is  more  than  the  love 
of  forty  thousand  brothers  in  that  hard 
grasp  of  the  wrist  — -  in  that  long  gaze  at 
arms'  length  —  in  the  force  that  might,  but 
wi/i  not,  draw  her  nearer  !  And  never  a 
word  from  this  king  of  words  !  His  ^rsf 
great  silence  — the  second  is  death  !  They 
may  meet  again  —  meet  a  thousand  times 
—  meet  to-morrow,  or  next  day,  or  the 
day  after  ;  but  with  the  open  grave  of  their 
dead  love  between  them  forevermore  ! 
The  cause  of  this  despair  is  palpable: 

Pol.     What !  have  you  given  him  any  hard  words 

of  late  ? 
Oph.   No,  my  good  lord  ;  but,  as  you  did  com- 
mand, 
I  did  repel  his  letters  and  denied 
His  access  to  me. 

So  that  in  the  interval  between  those  acts, 
he  has  sought  her  more  than  once ;  she 
has  repelled  his  letters  —  plural.  Yet  he 
could  only  have  sought  her  to  whisper 
some  sad  parting,  for  he  knew  that  he  was 
6i 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


doomed  !  Perhaps  he  may  have  dreamed 
of  finding  counsel  in  her  eyes  —  of  resting 
that  tormented  forehead  for  the  last  time 
on  her  knees  !  Instead  of  this,  the  doors 
are  closed  against  him  !  Dismissed,  for- 
saken, just  as  the  glance  of  a  fond  woman's 
eye,  the  touch  of  a  true  woman's  hand, 
was  most  needed !  Was  it  not  enough 
to  madden  him  ?  Was  it  not  enough  to 
turn  him  mercilessly  against  the  sly  old 
trimmer  whose  finger  he  detected  in  the 
transaction  —  whom  he  must  always  have 
detested  as  his  uncle's  Premier,  had  he 
not  been  Ophelia's  father?  Would  he 
have  been  mortal,  would  he  have  been  a 
lover,  had  he  not  hated  Polonius  ?  And 
yet  when  they  next  meet,  we  are  startled 
by  the  savage  flash  of  a  scorn,  for  which 
we  are  unprepared  only  because  the  grand 
Master  has  not  deigned  to  re-state  the 
provocation. 

This  is  one  of  the   most   amusing  of 
Hamlet's  engagements.     How  confidently 
the  veteran  sails  into  action  I  — 
62 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


Pol.        At  such  a  time  I  '11  loose  my  daughter  to 
him  : 
Be  you  and  I  behind  an  arras  then  ; 
Mark  the  encounter ;  if  he  love  her  not, 
And  be  not  from  his  reason  fall'n  thereon, 
Let  me  be  no  assistant  for  a  state. 
But  keep  a  farm  and  carters. 
King.  We  will  try  it. 

^teen.   But  look   where  sadly  the  poor  wretch 

comes  reading. 
Pol.        Away,  I  do  beseech  you,  both  away  : 

I  '11  board  him  presently  : —  O,  give  me 
leave. 

{Exeunt  King.,  ^een  and  Attendants.) 
Enter  Hamlet  reading. 
How  does  my  good  Lord  Hamlet  ? 
Ham.    Well,  God-a-mercy. 
Pol.        Do  you  know  me,  my  lord  ? 
Ham.     Excellent,  excellent  well ;  you  are  a  fish- 
monger. 
Pol.        Not  I,  my  lord. 

Ham.    Then  I  would  you  were  so  honest  a  man. 
Pol.        Honest,  my  lord  ! 

Ham.  Ay,  sir  ;  to  be  honest,  as  this  world  goes, 
is  to  be  one  man  picked  out  of  ten 
thousand. 

63 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


This  is  pitiless.  But  there  is  nothing  so 
insufferable  to  a  lofty  and  morbidly  acute 
ir^telligence  in  its  prime,  as  the  devices  of 
a  wi4y,  aggressive  old  age  — -  the  '  slyness 
blinking  through  the  watery  eye  of  super- 
annuation.' Yet,  with  all  his  drivel,  the 
ancient  diplomat  is  no  despicable  antago- 
nist: he  is  still  an  overmatch  for  most  men. 
Though  on  a  false  trail  now,  there  is  no 
telling  when  he  may  strike  the  true  one. 
He  is  '  too  busy,  and  that  alone  is  *  some 
danger.'  Still,  we  could  hardly  forgive 
the  grim  delight  with  which  Hamlet  lashes 
the  bewildered  and  discomfited  politician, 
were  it  not  for  that  triple  wail, '  except  my 
life,  except  my  life,  except  my  life  ! '  This 
arrests  our  sympathy  just  as  it  is  about  to 
side  with  Polonius,  by  reminding  us  of  the 
insignificance  of  the  pain  the  prince  inflicts 
when  weighed  against  the  torture  he  en- 
dures. The  Premier's  advance  of  Rosen- 
crantz  and  Guildenstern  to  cover  his  own 
retreat,  is  exceedingly  humorous. 


66 


A   Revieiu   of  Hamlet 


Enter  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern. 
Pol.     You  go  to  seek   the  Lord  Hamlet ;  there 
he  is: — [accented  just    as  if   he    had 
said. 
You  go  to  seek  the  devil  ;  there  he  is  /]  — 

{Exit  POLONIUS.) 

Through  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern 
Hamlet  is  presented  to  us  under  his  sub- 
tlest intellectual  aspects.  These  two  young 
gentlemen  have  been  summoned  to  Court, 
and  delicately  commissioned  to  *  draw  out  * 
Hamlet,  and  gather  the  secret  cause  of  his 
affliction ;  in  consideration  whereof  they 
are  to  receive  such  thanks  as  Jits  a  King  s 
remembrance.  They  had  been  brought  up 
with  him,  '  neighbour'd  to  his  youth  and 
humour,'  old  schoolmates  and  friends  ;  yet, 
at  the  first  intimation  of  their  royal  mas- 
ter, they  cheerfully  sink  into  paid  spies. 
\n  their  very  first  interview  at  Court,  they 
display  a  talent  for  self-abasement. 

Thanks,  Rosencrantz  and  gentle  Guildenstern. 

Thanks,  Guildenstern  and  gentle  Rosencrantz. 

67 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


They  are  bought  up,  body  and  soul,  and 
the  Queen  says  amen  to  the  bargain. 

Hamlet,  though  entirely  ignorant  of  the 
transaction,  is  instinctively  on  his  guard, 
and  divines  their  mission  at  sight. 

The  best  and  most  characteristic  por- 
tion of  the  scene,  one  of  the  finest  in  the 
Play,  is  omitted  in  the  Quarto  —  another 
indication,  we  think,  that  the  Quarto  was 
from  an  earlier  version,  and  that  we  must 
regard  the  Folio  as  the  standard.  For,  in 
this  omitted  passage,  two  essential  points 
are  introduced ;  namely,  Hamlet's  total 
lack  of  ambition,  and  the  circumstance  of 
his  having  servants  of  his  own  ;  which  lat- 
ter fact  would  facilitate  his  fitting  out  or 
engaging  a  privateer,  or  negotiating  with 
Fortinbras  to  intercept  his  voyage  to  Eng- 
land—  a  point  to  be  considered  presently. 

Guild.  Mine  honour'd  lord. 
Ros.  My  most  dear  lord. 
Ham.    My  excellent  good   friends!      How  dost 

thou, Guildenstern  ?   Ah,  Rozencrantz ! 

Good  lads,  how  do  ye  both  ? 
68 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


Very  genial  in  expression  ;  but  instead  of 
giving  them  his  hand,  he  institutes  a  cross- 
examination. 

Ham.  What 's  the  matter  ? 

Ros.        Nothing,  my  lord,  but  that  the  world  's 

grown  honest. 
Ham.    Then  is  doom's-day  near  :  but  your  news 
is  not  true. 

The  Ouarto  is  silent  here ;  the  Folio  pro- 
ceeds, — 

Let  me  question  more  in  particular : 
What  have  you,  my  good  friends,  de- 
served at  the  hands  of  fortune  that 
she  sends  you  to  prison  hither  ? 

Guild.    Prison,  my  lord  ? 

Ham.     Denmark's  a  prison. 

Ros.       Then  is  the  world  one. 

Ham.  A  goodly  one;  in  which  there  are  many 
confines,  wards  and  dungeons,  Den- 
mark being  one  o'  the  worst. 

Ros.       We  think  not  so,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Why  then  't  is  none  to  you  ;  for  there  is 
nothing  either  good  or  bad,  but  think- 
ing makes  it  so  :  to  me  it  is  a  prison. 
69 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


Ros.  Why  then  your  ambition  makes  it  one ; 
'tis  too  narrow  for  your  mind. 

Ham.  O  God,  I  could  be  bounded  in  a  nut- 
shell, and  count  myself  a  king  of  infi- 
nite space,  were  it  not  that  I  have  had 
bad  dreams. 

Guild.  Which  dreams  indeed  are  ambition  ;  for 
the  very  substance  of  the  ambitious  is 
merely  the  shadow  of  a  dream. 

Ham.     A  dream  itself  is  but  a  shadow. 

Ros.  Truly,  and  I  hold  ambition  of  so  airy 
and  light  a  quality,  that  it  is  but  a 
shadow's  shadow. 

Ham.  Then  are  our  beggars  bodies,  and  our 
monarchs  and  outstretch'd  heroes  the 
beggars'  shadows.  Shall  we  go  to  the 
Court  ?  for  by  my  fay,  I  cannot 
reason. 

Ros..,  Guild.    We  '11  wait  upon  you. 

Ham.  No  such  matter :  I  will  not  sort  you 
with  the  rest  of  my  servants  ;  for,  to 
speak  to  you  like  an  honest  man,  I 
am  most  dreadfully  attended. 

How  vainly,  yet  how  persistently,  they  en- 
deavor to  convict  him  of  ambition  !     How 
70 


A   Revie%u   of  Hamlet 


superbly  he  disclaims  !  He  is  King  already  ! 
King  wherever  reason  may  clamber,  wher- 
ever imagination  may  soar  !  Monarch  of 
all  the  realms  of  earth,  and  air,  and  ocean  ! 
Emperor  of  infinite  space  !  What  cares 
he  for  the  crown  of  Denmark  ?  He  never 
once  alludes  to  its  loss,  save  in  that  final 
summing  up  against  his  uncle;  and  then 
only  as  an  item  on  the  side  of  *  perfect 
conscience ' :  — 

He  that  hath 

Popped  in  between  the  election  and  my  hopes. 

His  insecure,  uninfluential,  beggared  posi- 
tion at  Court,  is  only  glanced  at  in  excuse 
for  not  being  better  able  to  serve  his 
friends  :  once  at  the  end  of  the  First  Act, 

And  what  so  poor  a  man  as  Hamlet  is 

May  do  to  express  his  love  and  friending  to  you 

God  willing,  shall  not  lack  :  — 

and  twice  in  the  scene  we  are  now  examin- 
ing. 

Hamlet's  reply  to  Rosencrantz,  '  Then 
71 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


are  our  beggars  bodies,'  etc.,  is  far  from 
clear  ;  but  it  seems  to  mean, '  Then  are  our 
beggars  '  {who  have  no  ambition)  '  bodies, 
and  our  monarchs  and  outstretched  heroes  * 
{who  having  ambition^  are  therefore  nobodies) 
*  but  the  beggars'  shadows.' 

The  Quarto  and  Folio  now  proceed  in 
unison.  How  finely  the  Prince  plucks 
out  the  heart  of  their  mystery !  How 
they  blush,  and  quail,  and  stammer,  be- 
neath his  eye  ! 

Ham.  But  in  the  beaten  way  of  friendship,  what 
make  you  at  Elsinore  ? 

Ros.       To  visit  jott,  my  lord  :   no  other  occasion. 

Ham.  Beggar  that  I  am,  I  am  even  poor  in 
thanks ;  but  I  thank  you :  and  sure, 
dear  friends,  my  thanks  are  too  dear,  a 
halfpenny.  Were  you  not  sent  for  ? 
is  it  your  own  inclining  ?  Is  it  a  free 
visitation  ?  Come,  deal  justly  with 
me  :  come,  come  ;   nay,  speak. 

Guild.    What  should  we  say,  my  lord  ? 

Ham.  Anything  —  but  to  the  purpose.  You 
were  sent  for ;  and  there  is  a  kind 
of  confession  in  your  looks,  which 
72 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


your  modesties  have  not  craft  enough 
to  colour :  I  know,  the  good  king  and 
queen  have  sent  for  you. 

Ros.        To  what  end,  my  lord  ? 

Ham.  That  you  must  teach  me.  But  let  me 
conjure  you,  by  the  rights  of  our  fel- 
lowship, by  the  consonancy  of  our 
youth,  by  the  obligation  of  our  ever 
preserv'd  love,  and  by  what  more  dear 
a  better  purposer  could  charge  you 
withal,  be  even  and  direct  with  me, 
whether  you  were  sent  for,  or  no  ? 

Ros.       What  say  you  ?      (To  Guildenstern.) 

Ham.  Nay  then  I  have  an  eye  of  you  j  {aside) 
if  you  love  me,  hold  not  off. 

Guild.    My  lord,  we  were  sent  for. 

Ham.  I  will  tell  you  why  ;  so  shall  my  antici- 
pation prevent  your  discovery,  and 
your  secrecy  to  the  king  and  queen 
moult  no  feather.  I  have  of  late  (but 
wherefore  I  know  not)  lost  all  my 
mirth,  foregone  all  custom  of  ex- 
ercises :  and  indeed  it  goes  so  heavily 
with  my  disposition,  that  this  goodly 
frame,  the  earth,  seems  to  me  a  sterile 
promontory  ;  this  most  excellent  can- 
73 


A   Review   of  Ha  ml  6 


opy,  the  air,  look  you,  this  brave  o'er- 
hanging  firmament,  this  majestical  roof 
fretted  with  golden  fire,  why,  it  ap- 
pears no  other  thing  to  me,  than  a 
foul  and  pestilent  congregation  of  va- 
pours. What  a  piece  of  work  is  man! 
How  noble  in  reason  !  how  infinite  in 
faculties  !  in  form  and  moving,  how 
express  and  admirable  !  in  action  how 
like  an  angel  !  in  appearance,  how  like 
a  god  !  the  beauty  of  the  world  !  the 
paragon  of  animals  !  And  yet,  to  me, 
what  is  this  quintesscence  of  dust  ? 
Man  delights  not  me,  nor  woman 
neither  ;  though  by  your  smiling  you 
seem  to  say  so. 

Ros.  My  lord,  there  is  no  such  stuff  in  my 
thoughts. 

Ham.  Why  did  you  laugh,  then,  when  I  said, 
Man  delights  not  me  ? 

Ros.  To  think,  my  lord,  if  you  delight  not  in 
man,  what  lenten  entertainment  the 
players  shall  receive  from  you  :  we 
coted  them  on  the  way  ;  and  hither 
are  they  coming  to  offer  you  service. 

Ham.  He  that  plays  the  king  shall  be  welcome ; 
74 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


his  majesty  shall  have  tribute  of  me: 
the  adventurous  knight  shall  use  his 
foil  and  target  :  the  lover  shall  not 
sigh  gratis  ;  the  humorous  man  shall 
end  his  part  in  peace;  the  clown 
shall  make  those  laugh  whose  lungs 
are  tickled  o'  the  sere  ;  and  the  lady 
shall  say  her  mind  freely,  or  the  blank 
verse  shall  halt  for't.  What  players 
are  thev  ? 

Ros.  Even  those  you  were  wont  to  take  de- 
light in,  the  tragedians  of  the  city. 

Ham.  How  chances  it  they  travel  ?  Their 
residence  both  in  reputation  and  profit 
was  better,  both  ways. 

Ros.  I  think  their  inhibition  comes  by  means 
of  the  late  innovation. 

Ham.  Do  they  hold  the  same  estimation  they 
did,  when  I  was  in  the  city  ?  Are 
they  so  followed  ? 

Ros.       No,  indeed,  they  are  not 

Ham.  It  is  not  strange  ;  for  mine  uncle  is  King 
of  Denmark;,  and  those  that  would 
make  mowes  at  him  while  my  father 
lived,  give  twenty,  forty,  fifty,  an  hun- 
dred ducats  a-piece,  for  his  picture  in 
75 


A   Review   of  Hamlet 


little.  'Sblood,  there  is  something  in 
this  more  than  natural,  if  philosophy 
could  find  it  out. 

{^Flourish  of  trumpets  within.') 

Observe  that  it  is  only  under  protest, 
and  the  compulsion  of  etiquette,  that  Ham- 
let finally  offers  his  hand. 

Guild.    There  are  the  players. 

Ham.  Gentlemen,  you  are  welcome  to  Elsi- 
nore.  Your  hands,  come.  The  ap- 
purtenance of  welcome  is  fashion  and 
ceremony,  let  me  comply  with  you  in 
this  garb,  lest  my  extent  to  the  play- 
ers, which  I  tell  you,  must  show 
fairly  outward,  should  appear  more 
like  entertainment  than  yours.  You 
are  welcome,  but  my  uncle-father  and 
aunt-mother  are  deceived. 

Guild.    In  what,  my  dear  lord  ? 

Ham.  I  am  but  mad  north-northwest :  when 
the  wind  is  southerly  I  know  a  hawk 
from  a  handsaw. 

What  a  fine  mixture  of  scorn  and  humor, 

and  old  academic  tenderness  !     It  suggests 

76 


A   Revieiv  of  Hamlet 


Ivanhoe's  raising  his  lance  to  De  Grant- 
mesnil.  He  has  already  practically  for- 
given them.  They  are  schoolmates  again, 
for  the  nonce,  as  he  leans  between  them 
— '  at  each  ear  a  hearer,'  with  his  back  to 
Polonius. 

Pol.        Well  be  with  you,  gentlemen. 

Ham.     Hark  you,  Guildenstern  ;   and  you  too, 

at    each    ear    a    hearer.     That   great 

baby  you   see  there,  is  not  yet  out  of 

his  swathing-clouts. 
Ros.       Haply,  he's  the    second   time   come  to 

them ;    for   they   say    an   old    man    is 

twice  a  child. 
Ham.     I  will  prophesy  he  comes  to  tell  me  of 

the  players  ;   mark  it.     You  say  right, 

sir :     Monday    morning ;     't  was     so, 

indeed. 
Pol.        My  lord,  I  have  news  to  tell  you. 
Ham.     My  lord,  I  have  news  to  tell  you. 

When  Roscius  was  an  actor  at  Rome,  — 
Pol.        The  actors  have  come  hither,  my  lord. 
Ham.     Buz,  buz  ! 
Pol.        Upon  my  honour,  — 
Ham.    Then  came  each  actor  on  his  ass, — 
77 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


Pol.  The  best  actors  in  the  world,  either  for 
tragedy,  comedy,  history,  pastoral- 
comical,  historical-pastoral,  scene  in- 
dividable,  or  poem  unlimited  :  Seneca 
cannot  be  too  heavy,  nor  Plautus  too 
light.  For  the  law  of  writ,  and  the 
liberty,  these  are  the  only  men. 

Ham.  O  Jephthah,  Judge  of  Israel,  —  what  a 
treasure  hadst  thou  ! 

Pol.        What  a  treasure  had  he  my  lord  ? 

Ham.  Why  —  one  fair  daughter  and  no  more, 
The  which  he  loved  passing  well. 

Pol.        Still  on  my  daughter.      (^Aside.) 

Ham.     Am  I  not  i'  the  right,  old  Jephthah  ? 

This  ominous  Insinuation  was  going  a  step 
too  far  ;  and  a  twinge  of  self-reproach  may 
have  prompted  the  warning  to  the  First 
Player,  *  Follow  that  lord  ;  and  look  you  mock 
him  not.'  No  unnecessary  warning,  for  that 
First  Player's  eye  had  been  on  Polonius 
with  malice  aforethought  ever  since  the 
Premier's 

'  That 's  good :    mobled  queen  is  good  f  ' 
78 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


But   all   this   while    Hamlet    has    been 
silently  planning  his  Mousetrap. 

Ham.  Can  you  play  the  murder  of  Gon- 

zago  ? 

First  Player.  Ay,  my  lord. 

Ham.  We'll  ha't  to-morrow  night.      You 

could,  for  a  need,  study  a  speech 
of  some  dozen  or  sixteen  lines, 
which  I  would  set  down  and 
insert  in  't,  could  you  not  ? 

First  Player.  Ay,  my  lord.  {Exit  First  Player.) 
{Exeunt  Ros.  and  Guild.) 

Ham.  Now  I  am  alone  ! 

With  what  fierce  delight  he  hails  the  mo- 
ment !  His  fingers  are  itching  for  his 
sword  hilt!  His  rage  must  have  vent, 
or  it  will  kill  him.  Maddened  by  the 
forced  delay,  he  turns  on  himself  like  a 
scorpion  walled  with  fire. 

O,  what  a  rogue  and  peasant  slave  am  I ! 
Is  it  not  monstrous  that  this  Player  here, 
But  in  a  fiction,  in  a  dream  of  passion, 
Could  force  his  soul  so  to  his  own  conceit, 
79 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


That,  from  her  working,  all  his  visage  warm'd  j 

Tears  in  his  eyes,  distraction  in  's  aspect, 

A  broken  voice,  and  his  whole  function  suiting. 

With  forms,  to  his  conceit  ?  and  all  for  nothing  ? 

For  Hecuba  ? 

What 's  Hecuba  to  him,  or  he  to  Hecuba, 

That  he  should  weep  for  her  ?     What  would 

he  do. 
Had  he  the  motive  and  the  cue  for  passion. 
That  I  have  ?      He  would  drown  the  stage  with 

tears, 
And  cleave  the  general  ear  with  horrid  speech, 
Make  mad  the  guilty  and  appal  the  free ; 
Confound  the  ignorant,  and  amaze,  indeed. 
The  very  faculties  of  ears  and  eyes. 
Yet  I, 

A  dull  and  muddy-mettled  rascal,  peak. 
Like  John-a-dreams,  impregnant  of  my  cause. 
And  can  say  nothing.     No,  not  for  a  King, 
Upon  whose  property  and  most  dear  life 
A  damn'd  defeat  was  made.     Am  I  a  coward  ? 
Who  calls  me  villain,  breaks  my  pate  across. 
Plucks  off  my  beard,  and  blows  it  in  my  face  ? 
Tweaks  me  by  th'  nose,  gives  me  th'  lie  i'  th' 

throat. 
As  deep  as  to  the  lungs  ?     Who  does  me  this  ? 
80 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


Yet  I  should  take  it  —  for  it  cannot  be, 

But  I  am  pigeon-liver'd,  and  lack  gall 

To  make  oppression  bitter ;  or,  ere  this, 

I  should  have  fatted  all  the  region  kites 

With  this  slave's  ofFal.     Bloody,  bawdy  villain  ! 

Remorseless,    treacherous,    lecherous,    kindless 

villain  ! 
O  vengeance  ! 

The  instant  the  fit  is  over,  he  despises  his 
frenzy. 

Why,  what  an  ass  am  I  ?     This  is  most  brave, 
That  I,  the  son  of  a  dear  father  murder'd. 
Prompted  to  my  revenge  by  heaven  and  hell, 

Must 

fall  a-cursing,  like  a  very  drab, 
A  scullion  ! 
Fie  upon  't  !   fob  ! 

It  is  true,  that  Hamlet  is  constitutionally- 
averse  to  violence  ;  that  he  is  not  ^splenitive 
and  rash  ; '  that  he  *  lacks  gall  to  make 
oppression  bitter  ; '  that  his  weakness  and 
his  melancholy  *  have  increased  his  apathy 
to  all  things,  even  to  revenge ; '  that  he 
6  8i 


A   Reviezu  of  Hamlet 


habitually  exhibits  that  chronic  antipathy 
to  action  which  accompanies  extreme  ner- 
vous depression.  But  as  for  cowardice  ?  — 
from  such  cowards  defend  us  heaven  !  Once 
roused,  he  never  sets  his  life  at  a  pin's  fee : 
the  *  something  dangerous  '  becomes  some- 
thing terrible.  There  is  not  a  hero  in 
Shakespeare — -  Macbeth,  with  harness  on 
his  back,  —  Lear,  with  his  good,  biting  fal- 
chion,—  Othello,  with  that  little  arm  up- 
lifted,—  ay,  even  Richard,  when  a  thousand 
hearts  are  great  within  his  bosom  —  who 
would  not  quail  before  the  Berserker  wrath 
of  this  Viking's  son  I  —  while,  in  the  blaze 
of  his  dazzling  irony,  Falstaff  himself 
would  shrivel  up  into  Slender? 
'^'  But  it  is  time  to  explain  the  true  causes 
of  Hamlet's  delay.  He  is  not  merely  the 
heir  of  a  swift  revenge  but  the  princely 
representative  of  a  '  cause  and  a  name,' 
which  must  be  reported,  aright  to  the  un- 
satisfied. How  could  he  then  kill  the  King 
without  passing  for  a  common  cutthroat? 
Shall  the  annals  of  Denmark  be  allowed 
82 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


to  perpetuate  his  uncle  as  a  martyr  and 
himself  as  an  assassin  ?  He  more  than 
half  believed  the  Ghost's  story,  and  hence 
his  vehement  self-accusal  ;  but  to  proceed 
to  extremities,  without  corroborate  testi- 
mony, would  have  been  both  a  crime  and 
a  blunder.  IVe  want  no  farther  proof: 
we  are  initiated  spectators,  and  have  full 
faith  in  the  word  of  the  majestic  apparition. 
But  were  we  called  upon  to  act  as  Hamlet 
was,  we  should  think  twice  before  we  as- 
tonished our  friends  in  particular  and  man- 
kind in  general  by  exterminating  a  royal 
uncle  at  the  special  private  request  of  the 
ghost  of  a  defunct  Paterfamilias.  What- 
ever may  have  been  Hamlet's  shortcom- 
ings, he  was  distinctly  not  a  fn^l.  And  it 
is  impossible  to  conceive  any  better,  swifter 
or  surer  way  of  accomplishing  his  compli- 
cated mission  than  by  that  very  assumption 
of  lunacy  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  expedi- 
ent of  the  Interlude  on  the  other.  The 
first  would  mitigate  the  verdict  of  posterity 
if  sudden  fury  should  goad  him  into  pre- 
83 


A   Review   of  Hamlet 


mature  assault,  as  happened  once  and  nearly 
twice  ;  the  second,  by  startling  the  King 
into  some  word  or  gesture  of  self-betrayal, 
would  serve  to  justify  or  palliate  a  more 
deliberate  revenge.  Public  verification  — 
human  testimony  to  the  truth  —  of  that 
ghostly  charge  was  not  to  be  obtained  in  a 
day  or  an  hour.  Hamlet  seized  the  very 
first  opportunity  that  ofi^ered  :  and  it  re- 
quired both  consummate  ingenuity  and 
consummate  daring  to  devise  and  carry  out 
the  expedient.  Away  with  idle  words  and 
cursing  like  a  scullion  ! 

About  my  brain!  I  have  heard 
That  guilty  creatures  sitting  at  a  play, 
Have  by  the  very  cunning  of  the  scene 
Been  struck  so  to  the  soul,  that  presently 
They  have  proclaimed  their  malefactions  ; 
For  murder,  though  it  have  no  tongue,  will  speak 
With   most  miraculous  organ.     I  '11  have  these 

players 
Play  something  like  the  murder  of  my  father 
Before  mine  uncle:   I  '11  observe  his  looks  ; 
I  '11  tent  him  to  the  quick  :    if  he  but  blench, 
.    84 


A   Revieiv  of  Hamlet 


I  know  my  course.    The  spirit  that  I  have  seen 
May  be  the  devil :   and  the  devil  hath  pouter 
To  assume  a  pleasing  shape  ;  yea,  and  perhaps 
Out  of  my  weakness  and  my  melancholy 
(As  he  is  very  potent  with  such  spirits,) 
Abuses  me  to  damn  me  :   I  '11  have  grounds 
More  relative  than  this  :  —  the  play  's  the  thing 
Wherein  I  '11  catch  the  conscience  of  the  king. 

But  there  is  a  spiritual  necessity  for  re- 
tarded instead  of  precipitate  action.  That 
smiling  damned  villain  is  a  fascination  :  it 
would  be  a  mistake  to  slay  him  out  of  hand  : 
the  joy  of  one  sharp  second  is  nothing  to 
the  delight  of  watching  him,  day  by  day, 
unconsciously  moving  nearer  to  his  doom. 
Had  the  King  a  thousand  lives,  to  take 
them  one  by  one  were  less  enjoyment 
than  the  revelry  of  deepening  hatred,  the 
luxury  of  listening  to  the  far  music  of  the 
forging  bolt.  Who  has  not  recognized,  in 
some  degree,  the  charm  of  the  suspended 
claw,  or  comprehended  the  stern  joy  of  the 
lion  in  his  lair?  The  crimes  of  this  scep- 
tered  fratricide  are  stale :  the  murdered 
85 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


man  is  dust :  his  widow  old  in  incest :  there 
is  no  fresh,  living  horror  to  clamor  for 
instant  retribution.  Indeed  there  is  no 
adequate  retribution  possible,  except  such 
as  the  soul  of  the  Avenger  can  find  in  sat- 
urating itself  with  the  spectacle  of  its  victim. 
The  naked  fact  of  killing  the  King  would 
be  poor  revenge  save  as  the  climax  of  ante- 
cedent torture, —  not  physical,  but  mental 
and  spiritual  torture.  For  when  mind  and 
heart  are  outraged,  they  seek  to  be  avenged 
in  kind.  To  haunt  that  guilty  court  like 
a  spectre ;  to  hang  destruction  by  a  hair 
above  the  throne  ;  to  wean  his  mother  from 
her  low  cleaving ;  to  vex  the  state  with 
turbulent  and  dangerous  lunacy  ;  to  make 
that  sleek  usurper  quail  and  cower  in  every 
conflict ;  to  lash  him  with  unsparing  scorn  ; 
to  foil  him  at  every  turn  ;  to  sting  him  to 
a  new  crime  ;  to  drag  him  from  his  throne, 
a  self-convicted  felon,  and,  ultimately,  with 
one  crowning  sword-thrust  to  make  all  even, 
—  this  is  the  nearest  approach  to  atonement 
of  which  the  case  is  susceptible. 
86 


A   Review  of  Haiulct 


But  the  impulse  of  conscience,  as  well 
as  of  nature,  was  against  a  precipitate,  head- 
long assault.  Hamlet  is  represented  not 
only  as  a  prince  and  a  man,  but  as  a  Chris- 
tian ;  and  as  a  Christian  he  may  be  par-  \ 
doned,  even  at  this  day^  for  being  partially 
influenced  by  his  faith.  The  manifest 
Christian  duty  under  the  circumstance  was 
forgiveness :  there  is  no  such  word  as 
revenge  in  the  lexicon  of  Calvary.  Tried 
by  the  Christian  standard,  the  very  poor- 
est revenge  he  could  take  would  be  to  send 
his  own  soul  helplessly  after  his  sire's  just 
for  the  sake  of  shortening  the  life  and 
accelerating  the  perdition  of  one  who  was 
pretty  sure  in  due  season  to  damn  himself. 

The  classics  have  so  profoundly  pagan- 
ized our  tastes,  that  our  secret  wish  is,  not 
that  he  should  shut  both  ears  to  the  vin- 
dictive whispers  of  a  questionable  shape,  but 
that  he  should  finish  up  the  matter  like  a 
man  and  play  the  executioner  with  less 
mouthing.  But  Hamlet  is  not  *  the  passion 
puppet  of  fate^  but  the  representative  of  an 
87 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


august  will'  {De  ^incey).  Free  will  and 
conscience  both  rebel  at  this  dictation  of 
the  grave,  this  super-position  of  destiny. 
The  soul  immortal  as  itself  consents  to 
follow  the  phantom  so  far,  but  no  farther; 
and  although  sorely  tempted  to  aggression, 
remains  virtually  defensive  to  the  end,  ex- 
pectant of  the  mediation  of  Providence 
but  disdaining  the  compulsion  of  destiny. 

There  's  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends, 
Rough-hew  them  how  we  may. 

The  power  referred  to  is  God,  not  fate. 
Even  before  that  glance  beyond  the  grave, 
that  verification  of  penal  fire,  he  respects 
the  *  canon  'gainst  self-slaughter.'  On 
meeting  the  ghost,  his  first  ejaculation  is  a 
prayer, 

Angels  and  ministers  of  grace  defend  us, 

just  as  afterward  in  the  interview  with  the 
Queen, 

Save  me  and  hover  o'er  me  with  your  wings, 
You  heavenly  guards  ! 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


The  surmise  that  the  spirit  he  has  seen 
may  be  the  devil,  and  that  the  devil  hath 
power  to  assume  a  pleasing  shape,  so  far 
from  being  an  overnice  after-scruple,  is  his 
first  misgiving. 

Be  thou  a  spirit  of  health  or  goblin  damn'd, 
Bring  with  thee  airs  from  heaven  or  blasts  from 

hell; 
Be  thy  intents  wicked  or  charitable, 
Thou  com'st  in  such  a  questionable  shape 
That  I  will  speak  to  thee. 

^lestionable   from  the   first.       And   even 

after  his  love  and  pity  are  fully  enlisted, 

he  cannot  banish  that  grim  suspicion  of 
diablerie, 

O  all  you  host  of  heaven  !   O  earth  !  What  else  ? 
And  shall  I  couple  hell? 

*  So  art  thou  to  revenge  when  thou 
shalt  hear,'  is  hardly  the  language  of  a  soul 
in  Purgatory,  the  sphere  to  which  the 
spirit  professes  to  belong.  He  cannot 
divest  himself  of  the  darker  supposal : 
89 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


He  took  my  father  grossly,  full  of  bread  ; 
With  all  his  crimes  broad  blown,  as  flush  as  May  ; 
And    how    his   audit    stands,   who   knows   saw, 

heav'n  i 
But,  in  our  circumstance  and   course  of  thought 
'Tis  heavy  with  him. 

So  that  although  the  fear  of  the  worst 
deepens  and  intensifies  his  wrath,  he  can- 
not, without  more  or  less  misgiving, 
wholly  abandon  himself  to  a  revenge 
prompted,  as  he  says,  by  hell  as  well  as 
heaven. 

It  is  precisely  this  influence  of  faith,  and 
this  consequent  confusion  of  purpose,  that 
lends  such  a  deep,  uncertain,  unfathomable 
interest  to  the  Play.  The  human,  at  its 
best,  is  beautiful,  as  well  as  the  divine  ;  and 
most  especially  attractive  when  enriched 
with  just  so  much  of  the  divine  as  enters 
into  the  composition  of  your  average  Chris- 
tian. A  Christian  rarely  presents  the  same 
harmonious  front  to  fate  which  the  antique 
not  only  permitted,  but  exacted.  When 
the  grave  is  the  consummation,  the  absolute 
90 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


finale  of  existence,  except  as  a  dim  shade, 
it  is  comparatively  easy  to  round  the  heroic 
evenly  and  symmetrically  up  to  that  mar- 
gin. But  when  death  is  the  door  to  vaster 
spheres  and  wider  experiences,  when  this 
little  life  is  but  the  prelude  to  unending 
futurities  of  infinite  bliss  or  infinite  despair, 
the  deeper  faith  should  find  its  echo  in 
deeper  art.  In  Hamlet,  as  in  Faust,  more 
grandly,  though  less  avowedly,  the  immor- 
tal weal  or  woe  of  a  human  soul  is  at  stake  ; 
and  we  catch  ourselves  listening  for  the 
spirit  voices  at  the  end, 

'  He  is  judged  ! '  —  *  He  is  saved  ! ' 

It  is  precisely  here  that  he  explains  him- 
self in  that  marvellous  monologue  which 
fills  the  heart  of  this  troubled  symphony 
with  an  Adagio  of  calm,  infinite,  unearthly 
beauty.  From  the  first,  Hamlet  neither 
cared  for  nor  expected  to  survive  his  re- 

ryenge.     *  To  be  or  not  to  be,*  is  not  a  ques- 
tion of  suicide,  but  of  sacrifice.      He  must 
perish  with  his  victim  ;  there  is  no  escape. 
91 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


He  is  ready  !  For  his  body  he  recks  not ; 
better  thaw  and  resolve  itself  into  a  dew. 
But  his  mind  ?  Life  had  still  one  delight 
for  this  *  fellow  of  Wittenberg  '  —  the  in- 
exhaustible splendor  of  his  own  »?/W,  the 
glory  and  majesty  of  thought,  the  ecstasy 
of  perfect  expression.  It  was  his  vocation, 
his  genius,  his  supreme  happiness,  to 
think,  to  speak,  to  imagine.  He  enjoys 
the  play  of  his  sovereign  reason,  as  the 
horse  of  the  desert  enjoys  the  play  of  its 
arching  neck  and  flying  mane,  —  as  the 
eagle  enjoys  its  pinions  while  fanning  the 
sun, —  as  all  things  divinely  beautiful  enjoy 
their  own  manifestations.  Love  itself, 
though  his  nature  is  exceptionally  tender, 
is  but  a  secondary  transport  to  the  rapture 
of  eloquence.  What  wonder  that  he  clings 
to  the  lighted  torch  of  such  an  intelligence  ! 
What  wonder  that  he  strives  to  bear  it  un- 
extinguished through  the  whirlwinds  that 
sweep  the  dark  passes  between  time  and 
eternity!  And  yet  he  would  gladly  sur- 
render this  beautiful  mind  to  the  quietus 
92 


A   Revieiv  of  Hamlet 


i 


of  final  and  complete  extinction  :  it  is  only 
the  distortion  of  the  dreams  that  haunt  the 
sleep  of  death  that  gives  him  pause. 

To  die,  —  to  sleep,  — 
'    No  more ;  and  by  a  sleep  to  say  we  end 
The  heart-ache  and  the  thousand  natural  shocks 
That  flesh  is  heir  to,  —  't  is  a  consummation 
Devoutly  to  be  wished.      To  die,  —  to  sleep  ;  — 
To  sleep  !    perchance  to  dream  :  ay,  there  's  the 

rub ; 
For  in  that  sleep  of  death  what  dreams  may  come, 
When  we  have  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil, 
1    Must  give  us  pause. 

Still  less  will  he  force  a  lawless  passage  into 
that 

'  undiscover'd   country  from  whose  bourn 
No  traveller  returns,' 

even  for  an  enterprise  of  great  pith  and 
moment.  *  The  dread  of  something  after 
death' 

puzzles  the  will, 

And  makes  us  rather  bear  those  ills  we  have 
Than  fly  to  others  that  we  know  not  of, 
93 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


Thus  conscience  does  make  cowards  of  us  all ; 

And  thus  the  native  hue  of  resolution 

Is  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought. 

But  apart  from  all  these  motives  and  rea- 
sons for  delay,  Hamlet  could  afford  to  wait. 
In  the  first  place,  he  was  personally  safe  in 
waiting : 

'  He  's  lov'd  of  the  distracted  multitude,' 

to  such  an  extent  that  the  King  dare  not 
'  put  the  strong  law  on  him  :' 

'  The  queen,  his  mother, 

Lives  almost  by  his  looks  : ' 

'  the  great  love  the  general  gender  bear 

him ' 

is  such  that  the  royal  arrows, 

'Too  lightly  timber'd  for  so  loud  a  mind 
Would  have  reverted  to  the  bow  again 
And  not  where  they  were  aimed.' 

There    is    a  vulgar    impression,   owing 
perhaps  to  the  usual  insignificance  of  stage 
royalty,  that  the  King  was  constantly  at 
94 


A   Revieiv  of  Hamlet 


Hamlet's  mercy :  whereas,  but  for  Hamlet's 
personal  prowess  and  popularity,  the  case 
must  have  been  exactly  the  reverse.  As  it 
is,  he  haunts  that  guilty  palace,  pacing  the 
lobby  four  hours  together :  as  it  is,  ever 
since  Laertes  went  into  France,  he  has 
been  in  continual  practice  with  his  rapier.  If 
suddenly  assailed,  he  is  sure  of  a  chance  to 
use  it  —  once  at  least.  Always  on  guard, 
always  vigilant,  always  armed ;  reckless 
and  irresistible  in  his  wrath ;  masked  by 
lunacy  and  shielded  by  popular  and  mater- 
nal affection,  he  felt  more  than  a  match  for 
the  utmost  cunning  of  the  King.  Young, 
unadvised,  inexperienced;  the  representa- 
tive of  the  better  genius  of  Denmark  ;  with 
national  interests  to  regard  as  well  as  indi- 
vidual wrongs  to  redress  ;  watched  by  an 
intriguing  statesman  ;  worried  by  a  brace 
of  friends  turned  spies ;  discarded  by  the 
lady  of  his  love  ;  bent  on  the  reformation 
of  his  mother  as  well  as  on  the  chastisement 
of  her  wretched  spouse ;  passive  because 
uncertain  whether  his  mission  is  from  de- 
95 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


mon  or  divinity,  yet  equal  to  all  odds  and 
any  emergency  ;  there  is  no  grander  figure 
in  fable  or  history  than  Hamlet,  Prince  of 
Denmark. 

The  Second  Act  was  a  lull,  after  the 
storm  of  the  First :  the  Third  Act,  begin- 
ning only  one  day  later,  is  an  unin- 
terrupted procession  of  events,  moving 
swiftly  and  sternly  on  to  their  terrible 
consummation.  Polonius  is  setting  an- 
other snare,  and  baiting  it  with  Ophelia. 
Hamlet  has  been  '^  sent  for'  to  'affront 
her,*  as  't  were  *  by  accident ; '  Ophelia  is 
*  loosed,'  book  in  hand,  to  receive  him  ; 
the  King  and  his  minister  so  bestowed 
that,  *  seeing  unseen,'  they  may  frankly 
judge  and  gather. 

If  't  be  the  affliction  of  his  love  or  no 
That  thus  he  suffers  for. 

That  Ophelia  is  not  aware  of  the  lawful 
espials  is  distinctly  intimated  by  Polonius 
himself  after  the  interview  :  — 
96 


A   Review   of  Hamlet 


How  now  Ophelia  ! 
You  need  not  tell  us  what  Lord  Hamlet  said ; 
We  heard  it  all. 

The  King's  speech  to  the  Queen,  'Sweet 
Gertrude,  leave  us  too,'  &c.,  as  well  as  the 

Premier's 

Gracious,  so  please  you, 
We  will  bestow  ourselves, 

must  therefore  be  delivered  apart,  or  aside, 
from  Ophelia,  who  accepts  the  proposed 
encounter,  simply  as  an  opportunity  of 
reconciliation.  But  her  woman's  wit  and 
maiden  love  suggest  a  much  better  apol- 
ogy for  the  interview,  than  the  old  states- 
man's rather  weak  invention, 

Read  on  this  book ; 
That  show  of  such  an  exercise  may  colour 
Your  loneliness. 

Infinitely  better  her  own  honest,  proud, 
instinctive  action  :  — 

My  lord,  I  have  remembrances  of  yours 
That  I  have  longed  to  re-deliver; 
I  pray  you  now  receive  them 
7  97 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


She  ignores  their  last  dumb  meeting : 

How  does  your  honour  for  th'is  many  a  day  f 

And  yet,  womanlike,  although  she  had 
repelled  his  letters  and  declined  his  visits 
without  receiving  a  single  provocation  or 
vouchsafing  a  single  explanation,  she  now 
immediately  assumes  the  attitude  of  in- 
jured innocence : 

Take  these  again  ;   for  to  the  noble  mind 
Rich  gifts  wax  poor  when  givers  prove  unkind. 
There^  my  lord. 

Alas,  she  knew  not  with  whom  she  was 
dealing.  The  delicious  feminine  insin- 
cerity, which  makes  a  sound  man  smile 
in  fancied  superiority,  was  gall  and  worm- 
wood to  this  morbid  lover  of  truth.  The 
wound  she  had  dealt  his  soul  was  mortal ; 
she  had  silenced  the  last  hope  of  his  heart; 
and  yet  she  undertakes  to  invent  unkind- 
ness  on  his  part  to  excuse  severity  on  her 
own  !  The  whole  plot  flashes  on  him  at 
once.  He  sees  the  two  spies  behind  the 
98 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


scenes,  as  plainly  as  if  they  stood  before 
him.  He  sees  in  her  only  a  puppet  or  a 
decoy.  The  tenderness  which  deepened 
his  voice  into  richer  music  when  he  first 
perceived  her  — 

Soft,  you  now ! 
The  fair  Ophelia.     Nymph,  in  thy  orisons 
Be  all  my  sins  remembered  — 

all  this  is  gone ;  and  instead  of  it,  harsh 
bewildering  laughter:  —  'Ha,  ha!  are  you 
honest  ?  Are  you  fair  ?  —  Get  thee  to  a 
nunnery  ! '  How  significant  that  fierce, 
sudden  question,  '  Where  's  your  father  ? ' 

Oph.     At  home  my  lord. 

Ham.    Let  the  doors  be  shut  upon  him,  that  he 

may  play  the  fool  nowhere  but  in  's 

own  house. 

Sure  that  Polonius  is  a  listener,  and  with 
her  connivance^  he  cannot  help  believing 
her  answer,  a  direct  falsehood,  —  a  false- 
hood that  brings  down  upon  her  the  cruel 
levity  occurring  just  before  the  interlude, 
and  that  now  embitters  and  corrodes  his 
99 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


passionate   but  well-considered    and   well- 
meant  warning. 

Oph.     O  help  him,  you  sweet  heavens  ! 

Ham.  If  thou  dost  marry,  I  '11  give  thee  this 
plague  for  thy  dowry,  —  be  thou  as 
chaste  as  ice,  as  pure  as  snow,  thou 
shalt  not  escape  calumny.  Get  thee 
to  a  nunnery  :  farewell.  Or  if  thou 
wilt  needs  marry,  marry  a  fool ;  for 
wise  men  know  well  enough  what 
monsters  you  make  of  them.  To  a 
nunnery  go,  and  quickly  too,  farewell. 

Oph.      O  heavenly  powers,  restore  him  ! 

Ham.  I  have  heard  of  your  paintings  too,  well 
enough  ;  God  hath  given  you  one  face, 
and  you  make  yourselves  another :  you 
jig,  you  amble,  and  you  lisp,  and  nick- 
name God's  creatures,  and  make  your 
wantonness  your  ignorance.  Go  to, 
I  '11  no  more  on  't ;  it  hath  made  me 
mad.  I  say  we  will  have  no  more 
marriages ;  those  that  are  married  al- 
ready, all  but  one^  shall  live;  the  rest 
shall  keep  as  they  are.  To  a  nun- 
nery, go  ! 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


Harsh  as  this  sounds  to  us,  the  madness 
which  he  chose  to  throw  into  it,  and  the 
love  which  could  not  help  shining  through 
it,  prevent  its  seeming  intentionally  harsh 
to  her. 

She  laments  it  as  grotesque,  insane,  la- 
mentable, but  not  unkind.  She  is  not 
hurt,  but  sympathetic;  her  prayers  and 
fears  are  for  him,  not  for  herself;  it  is 
only  as  a  mourner  over  his  supposed 
mental  ruin,  that  she  suffers  at  all.  — 
His  glance,  voice,  manner,  have  so  quali- 
fied his  words  that  ^e  acquits  him,  on  the 
spot,  of  the  unkftidness  with  which  she 
had  previously  taxed  him.  His  whole 
bearing  is  so  mercifully  regulated,  that  her 
soul  is  absorbed  in  pity, 

O  heavenly  powers,  restore  him  !  — 

O  what  a  noble  mind  is  here  o'erthrown  !  — 

That  unmatch'd  form  and  feature  of  blown  youth 

Blasted  with  ecstacy  :   O  woe  is  me. 

To  have  seen  what  I  have  seen,  see  what  I  see  !  i 

She  is  most  deject  and  wretched,  but 
without  even  a  suspicion  of  being  badly 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


treated.  Nor  is  she  badly  treated.  The 
resentment  of  neglected  love  may  inflame 
his  dazzling  satire,  but  under  the  circum- 
stance, *  Get  thee  to  a  nunnery '  was  the 
best  and  only  advice  he  could  give  her. 
A  nunnery  was  her  best  and  only  refuge 
from  the  impending  storm.  Destruction 
for  himself  and  all  else  around  him ;  but, 
for  her  the  cloisters'  timely  shelter.  There 
is  no  telling  when  the  fierce  wrath  may 
seize  him  :  when  he  may  shake  down  the 
pillars  of  that  guilty  palace.  But  not  if 
he  can  help  it,  on  her  fair  head  shall  the 
ruin  fall !  Since  the  grave  is  opening  for 
him^  let  the  Convent  open  for  her.  Not 
his,  but  never  another's  !  O  wonderful 
poet !  Could  she  not  guess,  had  she  not 
some  shadowy  perception  of  the  jealous, 
selfish,  masculine  love,  which  despite  their 
fell  divorce,  would  wall  her  from  the  world, 
and  mark  her  with  the  seal  of  God,  to  save 
her  from  the  violation  of  man  }  I 

More  appropriately  here,  tHan  on  the 
knocking  at  the  gate  in  Macbeth^  might 


A   Reviezu   of  Hamlet 


De  Quincey  exclaim,  'O  mighty  poet? 
thy  works  are  not  as  those  of  other  men, 
simply  and  merely  great  works  of  art ;  but 
are  also  like  the  phenomena  of  nature; 
like  the  sun  and  the  sea,  the  stars  and  the 
flowers  ;  like  frost  and  snow,  rain  and  dew, 
hailstorm  and  thunder;  which  are  to  be 
studied  with  entire  submission  of  our  own 
faculties,  and  in  perfect  faith,  that  in  them 
there  can  be  no  too  much  or  too  little ; 
nothing  useless  or  inert ;  but  that  the  fur- 
ther we  press  in  our  discoveries,  the  more 
we  shall  see  proofs  of  design  and  self- 
supporting  arrangement,  where  the  care- 
less eye  had  seen  nothing  but  accident ! ' 

The  King  has  gained  nothing  by  play- 
ing the  spy ;  he  detects  too  much  method 
in  his  nephew's  madness ;  that  wicked 
parting  threat  is  ringing  in  his  ears,  '^41/ 
but  one  shall  live ! '  His  soul  is  on  the 
rack  ;  restless,  apprehensive,  overawed. 
The  weaker  mind  already  quails  before 
the  stronger;  the  executioner  of  the  father 
begins  to  tremble  before  the  son.  — 
103 


A   Review  of  Harnlet 


There  's  something  in  his  soul, 
O'er  which  his  melancholy  sits  on  brood  ; 
And  I  do  doubt  the  hatch  and  the  disclose 
Will  be  some  danger ;   which  for  to  prevent 
I  have  in  quick  determination 
Thus    set    it    down  ;    he    shall   with    speed    to 
England. 

But  the  pliant  monster,  overruled  as 
usual  by  his  minister,  concludes  to  post- 
pone the  threatened  banishment  until  the 
Queen  mother  has  a  chance  to  be  *  round 
with  him,*  after  the  play.  Meanwhile  the 
play  within  the  play  is  preparing ;  and 
those  wooden  strollers,  who  in  other  hands 
would  have  proved  clumsy  or  unmanage- 
able, are  here  the  occasion  of  a  quiet  elo- 
quence, more  effective  than  most  dramatic 
action.  '  Speak  the  speech,  I  pray  you,' 
is  a  lesson  for  all  time  to  all  humanity. 

The  facility  with  which  Hamlet  coun- 
terfeits madness,  is  strikingly  instanced  in 
the  sudden  transition  from  his  pre-emi- 
nently sane  discourse  with  Horatio,  to  his 
outrageous  behavior  before  the  royal  pair 
104 


A  Review   of  Hamlet 


and  their  attendants.  How  calm,  how 
measured,  those  solemn  words  to  his 
friend,  as  if  designed  to  anticipate  any 
misconstruction  in  that  quarter.  For  it 
sometimes  happens  we  play  the  madman 
so  very  perfectly,  that  our  best  friends  are 
precisely  those  who  are  the  first  to  pro- 
nounce our  sanity  counterfeit,  and  our 
lunacy  natural.  But  what  a  superb  com- 
pliment he  pays  Horatio;  how  dearly  hei 
loves  to  praise  where  praise  is  due,  —  that! 
rarest  human  grace  :  i 

Horatio,  thou  art  e'en  as  just  a  man  ' 

As  e'er  my  conversation  cop'd  withal. 

—  Dost  thou  hear  ? 

Since  my  dear  soul  was  mistress  of  her  choice, 
And  could  of  men  distinguish,  her  election 
Hath  seal'd  thee  for  herself.  — 

—  Give  me  that  man 

Tha*  is  not  passion's  slave,  and  I  will  wear  him 
In  my  heart's  core,  ay,  in  my  heart  of  hearts, 
As  I  do  thee.  — 

This  is  the  friend  whom  he  now  com- 
missions to  watch  the  one  scene  that 
comes  near  the  circumstance, 

IDS 


A   Review   of  Hamlet 


Which  I  have  told  thee,  of  my  father's  death : 
I  prithee,  when  thou  see'st  that  act  a-foot, 
Even  with  the  very  comment  of  thy  soul 
Observe  mine  uncle ;  if  his  occulted  guilt 
Do  not  itself  unkennel  in  one  speech, 
It  is  a  damned  ghost  that  we  have  seen  ; 
And  my  imaginations  are  as  foul 
As  Vulcan's  stithy.      Give  him  heedful  note, 
For  I  mine  eyes  will  rivet  to  his  face ; 
And,  after,  we  will  both  our  judgments  join 
In  censure  of  his  seeming. 

Then,  as  the  first  notes  of  the  Danish 
March  announce  the  coming  of  the  King 
and  court,  he  plunges  instantaneously  and 
without  effort,  into  the  reckless,  impene- 
trable, frightful  levity,  that  carries  him 
through  the  scene.  King,  Oueen,  Polo- 
nius,  Ophelia,  are  one  by  one  impaled  on 
his  savage  irony. 

King.     How  fares  our  cousin  Hamlet  ? 

Ham.  Excellent,  i'  faith ;  of  the  chameleon's 
dish  :  I  eat  the  air,  promise-cramm'd ; 
you  cannot  feed  capons  so. 

King.     I  have   nothing  with  this  answer,  Ham- 
let ;  these  words  are  not  mine, 
1 06 


A  Reviezu  of  Hamlet 


Ham.  No,  nor  mine,  now.  —  My  lord,  you 
play'd  once  i'  the  University,  you  say. 
(To  Polonius.) 

Pol.  That  I  did,  my  lord  ;  and  was  accounted 
a  good  actor. 

Ham.     And  what  did  you  enact  ? 

Pol.  I  did  enact  Julius  Caesar,  I  was  kill'd  i' 
the  Capitol  5   Brutus  killed  me. — 

Ham.  It  was  a  brute  part  of  him  to  kill  so  cap- 
ital a  calf  there.  —  Be  the  players 
ready  ? 

Ros.  Ay,  my  lord,  they  stay  upon  your  pa- 
tience. 

^een.  Come  hither,  my  dear  Hamlet,  sit  by 
me. 

Ham.  No,  good  mother,  here 's  metal  more 
attractive. 

Pol.         O  ho  !  do  you  mark  that  ?   (To  the  King.) 

Ham.     Lady,  shall  I  lie  in  your  lap  ? — 

(Lying  down  at  Ophelia's  feet.) 

Oph.      You  are  merry,  my  lord.        *        *        =1= 

Ham.  What  should  a  man  do,  but  be  merry  ? 
for  look  you  how  cheerfully  my 
mother  looks,  and  my  father  died 
within  these  two   hours. — 

Oph.      Nay,  't  is  twice  two  months,  my  lord.  — 
107 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


Ham.     So  long  ?      Nay,  then,  let  the  devil  wear 
black,  for  I  '11  have  a  suit  of  sables. 
O    heavens !    died   two    months   ago, 
and  not  forgotten  yet  ?    Then  there 's 
hope  a  great  man's  memory  may  out- 
live his  life  half  a  year.  — 
(Hautboys  play.      The  Dumb  Show  enters.) 
Oph.       What  means  this,  my  lord  ? 
Ham.     Marry,  this   is   miching    mallecho;^    it 
means  mischief.  — 
(Enter  Prologue.) 
Pro.        For  us  and  for  our  tragedy, 

Here  stooping  to  your  clemency, 
We  beg  your  hearing  patiently. 
Ham.     Is  this  a  prologue,  or  the  posy  of  a  ring  ? 
Oph.       'T  is  brief,  my  lord. 
Ham.     As  woman's  love. 

What  a  volume  of  pathos  in  that  whis- 
pered word  !  his  last  serious  word  to  her 
—  the  sole  reproach  he  ever  makes  her  ! 

Puppet  ^ueen.   Nor  earth  to  me  give  food,  nor 
heaven  light  —      *      *      * 
If  once  a  widow,ever  I  be  wife!  — 

1  Probably  a  corruption  of  Spanish,  "  mucho  malhecho,"  i.  e., 
much  ill  done,  or  very  ill  done. 

io8 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


Ham.     Madam,  how  like  you  this  play  ? 

^een.  The  lady  doth  protest  too  much,  me- 
thinks. 

Ham.     O,  but  she  '11  keep  her  word. 

King.  Have  you  heard  the  argument  ?  Is 
there  no  ofFence   in  't  ? 

Ham.  No,  no,  they  do  but  jest,  poison  in  jest ; 
no  ofFence  i'  the  world. 

King.     What  do  you  call  the  play  ? 

Ham.  The  Mouse-trap.  Marry,  how  ?  Trop- 
ically. This  play  is  the  image  of  a 
murder  done  in  Vienna;  Gonzago  is 
the  duke's  name;  his  wife,  Baptista: 
you  shall  see  anon ;  't  is  a  knavish 
piece  of  work ;  but  what  of  that  ? 
Your  majesty  and  we  that  have  free 
souls  ;  it  touches  us  not ;  let  the  galled 
jade  wince,  our  withers  are  unrung. 

{Enter  Lucianus.) 

This  is   one  Lucianus,  nephew  to  the 
King.— 

Oph.      You  are  as  good  as  a  chorus,  my  lord.  — 
{Lucianus  pours  poison  into  the 
sleeper  s  ear,) 
109 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


Ham.  He  poisons  him  i'  the  garden  for 's  estate. 
His  name  's  Gonzago  :  the  story  is  ex- 
tant and  written  in  very  choice  Italian : 
You  shall  see  anon  how  the  murderer 
gets  the  love  of  Gonzago's  wife. 

Oph.     The  King  rises. 

Ham.    What  frightened  with  false  fire  ? 

^ueen.   How  fares  my  lord  ? 

Pol.        Give  o'er  the  play. 

King.     Give  me  some  light ;  away  ! 

Jll.        Lights,  lights,  lights. 

{^Exeunt  all  except  Hamlet  and 
Horatio.) 

Any  other  poet  would  have  been  con- 
tent to  fix  the  climax  of  the  scene,  in  the 
disordered  flight  of  the  palsied  murderer ; 
but  in  Shakespeare,  it  is  only  a  stepping 
stone  to  loftier  achievements.  The  rest  of 
the  act  is  a  tour  de  force y  a  torrent  of  elo- 
quence, passion  and  power ;  a  stream  of 
intellectual  glory.  The  dramatic  work- 
manship is  inimitable.  After  the  signal 
triumph  of  this  scheme,  after  this  con- 
clusive confirmation  of  the    ghostly  tale, 


A   Keview  of  H millet 


Plamlet  abandons  himself  to  the  capricious 
impulse  of  the  moment,  as  a  strong  swim- 
mer abandons  himself  to  a  current,  only  to 
breast  it  with  recovered  strength.  What- 
ever is  uppermost  in  his  mind,  is  the  first 
to  find  expression.  Half  remembered  frag- 
ments of  verse,  whether  applicable  or  not; 
tumultuous  raillery,  in  which  Horatio  is 
swept  along,  like  a  leaf  in  a  whirlwind  ; 
swift  serious  questions ;  sharp  yearnings 
for  music ;  are  all  blended  together,  with 
unparalleled  power  and  truth. 

Ham.  Why  let  the  stricken  deer  go  weep, 

The  hart  ungalled  play  ; 
For    some    must    watch,    while 

some  must  sleep  ; 
Thus  runs  the  world  away.  — 
Would    not    this,  Sir,  and   a   forest   of 
feathers  (if  the   rest   of  my   fortunes 
turn  Turk  with  me,)  with  two  Provin- 
cial Roses  on  my  razed  shoes,  get  me 
a  fellowship  in  a  cry  of  players,  Sir  ? 
Hor.       Half  a  share. 
Ham.     A  whole  one,  I. 
Ill 


A   Review   of  Hamlet 


For  dost  thou  know,  O   Damon 
dear, 
This  realm  dismantled  was 
Of  Jove  himself  J  and  now  reigns 
here 

A  very,  very peacock. 

Hor.      You  might  have  rhymed. 
Ham.     O   good    Horatio,  I  '11  take  the   ghost's 
word  for  a  thousand  pound.     Did  'st 
perceive  ? 
Hor.      Very  well,  my  lord. 
Ham.     Upon  the  talk  of  poisoning  ? 
Hor.      I  did  very  well  note  him. 
Ham.    Ah,  ha  !  —  Come,  some  music  !  come,  the 
recorders  ! 
For  if  the  King  like  not  the  comedy. 
Why,  then,   belike,  —  he    likes    it    not, 

perdy.  — 
Come,  some  music  !  — 

Re-enter  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern. 

The  instant  he  perceives  them,  his  hysterical 
mirth  curdles  into  deadly  scorn.  With 
princely  reserve  and  measured  disdain,  he 
beats  back  their  joint  attack,  trampling  ahke 


A   Revie%v  of  Hamlet 


on  them  and  on  the  royalty  they  represent. 
This  trialogue  is  one  of  the  most  mem- 
orable portions  of  the  play.  Every  speech 
of  Hamlet's  has  the  flash  and  sweep  of  an 
archangel's  sword. 

Guild.  Good  my  lord,  vouchsafe  me  a  word 
with  you. 

Ham.    Sir,  a  whole  history. 

Guild.    The  King^  Sir,  — 

Ham.    Ay,  Sir,  what  of  him  ? 

Guild.  Is  in  his  retirement,  marvellous  dis- 
tempered. 

Ham.    With  drink.  Sir  ? 

Guild.    No,  my  lord,  with  choler. 

Ham.  Your  wisdom  would  show  itself  more 
richer  to  signify  this  to  his  doctor  ;  for 
me  to  put  him  to  his  purgation,  would 
perhaps  plunge  him  into  more  choler. 

Guild.  Good  my  lord,  put  your  discourse  into 
some  frame,  and  start  not  so  wildly 
from  my  affair. 

Ham.     I  'm  tame,  sir  ;  —  pronounce. 

Guild.  The  Queen,  your  mother,  in  most  great 
affliction  of  spirit,  hath  sent  me  to  you. 

Ham.    You  are  welcome. 
5  113 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


Guild.  Nay,  good  my  lord,  this  courtesy  is  not 
of  the  right  breed.  If  it  shall  please 
you  to  make  me  a  wholesome  answer, 
I  will  do  your  mother's  command- 
ment ;  if  not,  your  pardon,  and  my 
return,  shall  be  the  end  of  my  business. 

Ham.    Sir,  I  cannot. 

Guild.    What,   my  lord  ? 

Ham.  Make  you  a  wholesome  answer ;  my 
wit 's  diseased  :  but.  Sir,  such  answer 
as  I  can  make,  you  shall  command  :  or 
rather,  as  you  say,  my  mother  :  there- 
fore no  more,  but  to  the  matter :  my 
mother,  you  say, — 

Guildenstern  thus  staggered  and  silenced, 
Rosencrantz  hastens  to  the  rescue. 

Ros.  Then  thus  she  says ;  your  behaviour 
hath  struck  her  into  amazement  and 
admiration. 

Ham.  O  wonderful  son  that  can  so  astonish  a 
mother !  —  But  is  there  no  sequel,  at 
the  heels  of  this  mother's  admiration  ? 

Ros.       She  desires  to  speak  with  you  in  her  closet 
ere  you  go  to  bed. 
114 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


Ham.  We  shall  obey  were  she  ten  times  our 
mother.  Have  you  any  further  trade 
with    us  ?  — 

The  music  for  which  he  has  been  longing, 
enters  at  last,  and  the  recorder's  silent  pipe 
is  made  immortal  as  the  harp  of  Orpheus. 

Ham.     Will  you  play  upon  this  pipe  ? 

Guild.     My  lord,  I  cannot. 

Ham.     I  pray  you. 

Guild.    Believe  me,  I  cannot. 

Ham.     I  do  beseech  you. 

Guild.    I  know  no  touch  of  it,  my  lord. — 

Ham.  'T  is  as  easy  as  lying :  govern  these 
ventages  with  your  fingers  and  thumb, 
give  it  breath  with  your  mouth  ;  and 
it  will  discourse  most  eloquent  music. 
Look  you,  these  are  stops. 

Guild.  But  these  cannot  I  command  to  any  utter- 
ance of  harmony  ;   I  have  not  the  skill. 

Ham.  Why,  look  you  now,  how  unworthy  a 
thing  you  make  of  me  I  You  would 
play  upon  me;  you  would  seem  to 
know  my  stops ;  you  would  pluck  out 
the  heart  of  my  mystery ;  you  would 
115 


A   Review   of  Hamlet 


sound  me,  from  my  lowest  note,  to  the 
top  of  my  compass  ;  and  there  is  much 
music,  excellent  voice  in  this  little 
organ,  yet  cannot  you  make  it  speak. 
'Sblood,  do  you  think  that  I  am  easier 
to  be  played  on  than  a  pipe  ?  Call 
me  what  instrument  you  will,  though 
you  can  fret  me,  you  cannot  play  upon 
me. 

The  breach  between  them  is  widening  ;  a 
dead  friendship  is  rapidly  developing  into 
an  active  hatred.  Throughout  the  inter- 
view, Hamlet  preserves  a  frozen  calm 
which  they  can  neither  penetrate  nor  dis- 
turb, though  all  the  while  his  blood  is  boil- 
ing. With  masterly  self-control,  he  bids 
Polonius  '  God  bless  you,  sir !  '  little 
knowing  what  immediate  need  there  was 
for  such  blessing.  There  is  even  a  pale 
evanescent  tenderness  glimmering  through 
that  too  palpably  counterfeit  lunacy,  as  if 
the  Premier's  superannuated  slyness  were 
a  relief,  after  the  baseness  of  the  two  ado- 
lescent spies. 

ii6 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


Pol.        My  lord,  the  queen   would   speak  with 

you,  and  presently. 
Ham.     Do  you  see  yonder  cloud  that 's  almost 

in  shape  of  a  camel  ? 
Pol.        By  the  mass,  and  't  is  like  a  camel,  indeed. 
Ham.     Methinks  it  is  like  a  weasel. 
Pol.        It  is  backed  like  a  weasel. 
Ham.     Or  like  a  whale. 
Pol.        Very  like  a  whale. 
Ham.     Then  will   I  come  to  my  mother  by-and 

by.  —  They  fool  me  to  the  top  of  my 

bent.  —  I    will    come     by-and-by.  — 

Leave  me,  friends. 

He  has  hardly  time  to  hurry  them  from  his 
presence,  before  the  dark  thought  underly- 
ing all  this  mirth  betrays  itself:  he  is  trem- 
bling on  the  verge  of  matricide. 

'T  is  now  the  very  witching  time  of  night. 
When  churchyards  yawn,  and  hell  itself  breathes 

out 
Contagion  to  this  world  ;   now  could  I  drink   hot 

bloody 
And  do  such  bitter  business  as  the  day 
Would   quake    to    look    on.      Soft  !    now    to    my 

mother.  — 

117 


A   Review  of  Haynlet 


0  heart  lose  not  thy  nature ;  let  not  ever 
The  soul  of  Nero  enter  this  firm  bosom  : 
Let  me  be  cruel,  not  unnatural  : 

1  will  speak  daggers  to  her,  but  use  none ; 

My  tongue  and  soul  in  this  be   hypocrites,  — 

How  in  my  words  soever  she  be  shent. 

To  give  them  seals,  never,  my  soul,  consent ! 

In  this  mood  he  seeks  the  Queen's  closet, 
and  in  this  mood  encounters  the  King  at 
prayer.  He  must  have  overheard,  on  his 
way  there,  the  interview  between  the  King 
and  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern ;  he 
must  have  witnessed  or  overheard  them 
'making  love'  to  their  pitiful  employ- 
ment. For  scarcely  in  any  other  way 
could  he  have  foreknown  the  royal  de- 
termination, which  he  immediately  after 
refers  to. 

Ham.     I  must  to  England  :  you  know  that  ? 

^een.  Alack, 

I  had  forgot :   't  is  so  concluded  on. 

That  ominous  interlude  has  not  improved 
the  King's  repose. 


A   Revieiu  of  Hamlet 


King.     I  like  him  not,  nor  stands  it  safe  with  us 
To  let  his  madness  range.  — 
The  terms  of  our  estate  may  not  endure 
Hazard  so  dangerous,  as  doth  hourly  grow 
Out  of  his  lunacies.  — 
Arm   you,   I    pray   you,   to  this    speedy 

voyage : 
For  we  will  fetters  put  upon  this  fear 
Which  now  goes  too  free-footed. 

Ros.^  Guild.  We  will  hasten  us  — 

Remorse,  instilled  by  bodily  fear,  has 
driven  the  drunkard  murderer  to  attempt 
repentance. 

Help,  angels,  make  assay  : 
Bow,  stubborn  knees  ;  and,  heart  with 

strings  of  steel. 

Be  soft  as  sinews  of  the  new-born  babe  ! 

(^Retires  and  kneeh.\ 

{Enter  Hamlet^ 

Ham.    Now  might  I  do  it  pat,  now  he  is  praying  ; 

And  now  I  '11  do  it ;  —  and  so  he  goes  to 

Heaven  ; 
And  so  am    I   revenged;  —  that   would 
be  scanned  : 

119 


A   Review  of  Hajnlet 


A  villain  kills  my  father;  and  for  that, 
I,  his  sole  son,  do  this  same  villain  send 
To  Heaven. 

Why,  this  is  hire  and  salary,  not  revenge. 
He  took  my  father  grossly,  full  of  bread  ; 
With   all    his  crimes    broad    blown,    as 

flush  as  May  : 
And  how  his  audit  stands,  who  knows 

save  Heaven  : 
But  in  our  circumstance,  and  course  of 

thought, 
'T  is  heavy  with  him  :  and  am  I,  then, 

revenged 
To  take  him  in  the  purging  of  his  soul. 
When  he   is   fit,   and   season'd    for   his 

passage  ? 
No. 
Up,  sword ;  and  know  thou  a  more  horrid 

hent. 
When  he  is  drunk,  asleep,  or  in  his  rage  : 
At  gaming,  swearing  ;  or  about  some  act 
That  has  no  relish  of  salvation  in  it ;  — 
Then  trip  him,  that  his  heels  may  kick 

at  heaven; 
And  that  his  soul  may  be  as  damn'd  and 

black 
As  hell,  whereto  it  goes. 
120 


A  Revieiu  of  Hamlet 


Hazlitt  calls  this  ghastly,  livid  wrath,  *  a 
refinement  in  malice,  to  excuse  his  own 
want  of  resolution.'  A  shallow  plausi- 
bility, demolished  by  that  resolute  pass 
through  the  arras,  aimed  an  instant  later, 
at  this  same  King  of  shreds  and  patches! 
And  besides,  there  is  the  drama  to  consider. 
To  kill  the  King  then,  would  have  been 
an  anticlimax  and  the  play  have  been  cut 
short,  as  it  would  also  had  the  King,  and 
not  Polonius,  been  behind  the  arras!  In 
both  these  instances  the  plot  required  that 
the  King  should  live,  but  Hamlet  showed 
himself  perfectly  willing  to  kill  him  out 
of  hand  if  caught  eavesdropping. 

The  main  sorrow  of  the  Ghost  is  the 
manner  of  his  taking  off: 

Cut  off  even  in  the  blossom  of  my  sin, 

sent  to  my  account 

With  all  my  imperfections  on  my  head. 

Hamlet's  main  sorrow  is  less  his  father's 
sudden  death,  than  eternal  doom.  Once 
fully  abandoned  to  the  terrible  temptation 


A   Revieiu  of  Hamlet 


) 


which  besets  him,  once  mad  enough  to 
*  dare  damnation,'  he  is  not  going  to  sell 
his  soul  for  a  song ;  not  going  to  kill  the 
King  at  his  -prayers :  he  will  give  measure 
for  measure,  eternal  doom,  for  eternal 
doom.  The  depths  of  faith  are  revealing 
darker  possibilities  of  revenge ;  but  the 
whole  frightful  passage  is  a  fiendish  sug- 
gestion, vividly  presented,  rather  than 
deliberately  embraced.  It  is  the  first  wild, 
natural  imprecation  of  a  son  for  the  first 
time  SURE  that  his  uncle  is  the  assassin  of 
his  father.  This  bitter  certainty  trans- 
forms him  for  the  moment  almost  into  a 
demon ;  and  though  his  conscience  re- 
asserts its  sway,  this  is  clearly  the  mood 
in  which  he  afterwards  meets  his  mother. 
Had  the  Prmce  known  that  the  King,  far 
from  being  truly  repentant,  was  sending 
him  to  his  death  in  England,  he  would 
assuredly  have  slain  the  wretch  upon  the 
spot  and  the  play  would  have  had  a  totally 
different  ending.  Shakespeare's  art  avoided 
the  anticlimax  in  both  these  situations. 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


Polonius  is  playing  the  eavesdropper 
once  too  often  :  how  dexterous,  sly,  and 
busy  he  is  :  — 

Pol.  Look  you,  lay  home  to  him  : 

Tell  him  his  pranks  have  been  too  broad 

to  bear  with. 
And  that  your  grace  hath   screen'd  and 

stood  between 
Much    heat  and   him.     I  '11   sconce  me 

even  here. 
Pray  you  be  round  with  him. 

She  jneans  to  '  be  round  with  him,'  to  '  lay 
home  to  him.'  '  I  '11  warrant  you,'  she 
says ;  *  Fear  not  me.^  She  is  very  bold 
and  confident  and  self-contained.  She  is 
used  to  conquest.  Her  dominion  over 
both  her  royal  husbands  was  supreme : 
the  first  is  true  and  tender  to  her,  even  in 
that  sulphurous  prison-house  to  which  her 
fickle  beauty  helped  to  doom  him :  the 
second  quotes  her,  though  she  must  then 
be  near  fifty,  as  the  central  sun  round 
which  he  circles. 

123 


A   Review   of  Hamlet 


She  's  so  conjunctive  to  my  life  and  soul, 
That,  as  the  star  moves  not  but  in  its  sphere, 
I  could  not  but  by  her. 

She  is  morally  weak,  but  otherwise  strong: 
fascinated  by  a  brute,  but  not  cognizant 
of  his  crime:  the  slave  of  one  sin,  yet  the 
mistress  of  more  than  one  virtue.  The 
character  is  not  an  uncommon  one.  Her 
prostitution  cannot  be  sufficiently  detested; 
but  there  is  not  the  shadow  of  a  ground 
to  suppose  her  conscious  of  the  fratricide. 
As  often  happens  with  these  magnetic 
unfortunates,  her  tender-heartedness  sur- 
vives her  personal  degradation.  She  has 
a  kind  word  for  everybody,  and  it  flows 
unaffectedly  from  her  heart :  but,  once 
roused,  she  displays  the  spirit  of  an  Ama- 
zon. When  the  mutineers  overbear  the 
officers  and  break  the  doors,  she  strides 
between  the  armed  rabble  and  the  craven 
King,  with  a  flash  of  the  same  fierce  wrath 
which  her  son  inherits. 

How  cheerfully  on  the  false  trail  they  cry! 
O  this  is  counter,  you  false  Danish  dogs.  — 
124 


A   Revieiu  of  Hamlet 


Not  easily  crushed,  this  fair,  false,  haughty- 
matron  : —  not  easily  shaken  off,  with  one 
wave  of  the  lion's  mane,  like  Polonius 
and  Guildenstern.  The  encounter  is  stern 
from  the  start. 

Ham.     Now,  mother,  what 's  the  matter  ? 

^ueen.   Hamlet,  thou  hast  thy  father  much  of- 
fended. 

Ham.     Mother,  you  have  my  father  much   of- 
fended. 

^een.  Come,  come,  you   answer  with   an   idle 
tongue. 

Ham.     Go,   go,  you    question    with    a    wicked 
tongue. 

^een.  Why,  how  now,  Hamlet  ! 

Ham.  —  What 's  the  matter  now  ? 

^een.   Have  you  forgot  me  ? 

Ham.  —  No,  by  the  rood  not  so  : 

You    are    the    Queen,   your    husband's 

brother's  wife ; 
And  —  would   it  were  not   so  !  you  are 
my  mother. 

^een.  Nay,  then,  I  '11  set  those  to  you  that  can 
speak. 

125 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


Ham.     Come,  come,   and    sit   you    down  •,   you 
shall  not  budge. 
You  go  not  till  I  set  you  up  a  glass 
Where  you  may  see  the  inmost  part  of 
you. 
^ueen.  What  wilt  thou  do  ?  thou  wilt  not  mur- 
der me  ! 
Help,  help,  ho! 
Pol        {Behind.)     What,  ho  !    help,  help,  help  ! 
Ham.     How  now,  a  rat  ?      {Draws.)     Dead  for 
a  ducat,  dead  ! 
{Makes  a  pass  through  the  arras.) 
Pol.        {Behind.)      O,  I   am   slain.      {Falls  and 
dies.) 

Observe  three  things :  the  instantaneous 
assumption  of  lunacy,  the  sharp,  unhesi- 
tating lunge,  —  the  perfect  nerve  and  com- 
posure after  the  deed  is  done.  Weak  ? 
why,  action  is  even  easier  than  words  to 
this  terrible  son  of  the  sea-kings. 

But  the  Queen-mother,  unsubdued 
even  by  this  frightful  proof  of  Hamlet's 
determination  to  carry  his  point,  is  still 
every  inch  a  Queen. 

126 


A   Reviciv   of  Hamlet 


^een.  O  me,  what  hast  thou  done? 

Ham.  —  Nay,  I  know  not. 

Is  it  the  king  ? 
^een.     O  what  a  rash  and  bloody  deed  is  this  ! 
Ham.     A   bloody  deed  !  —  almost  as  bad,  good 
mother. 

As  kill  a  King,  and  marry  luith  his  brother, 
^een.   As  kill  a  King  ! 
Ham.  Ay,  lady,  't  was  my  word,  — 

Had  she  flinched  beneath  that  sudden 
test,  had  she  faltered  beneath  the  long 
and  searching  gaze  with  which  these  de- 
cisive words  were  accompanied,  he  might 
have  slain  her  in  his  fury  on  the  spot. 
There  was  no  escaping  that  infallible 
ordeal  :  guilt  or  innocence  was  written 
unmistakably  in.  her  face;  and  it  needs 
not  the  weak  assurance  of  the  Quarto  of 
1603  to  convince  us  of  her  innocence. 

^een.  But  as  I  have  a  soul,  I  swear  by  heaven, 
I  never  knew  of  this  most  horrid  murder. 

The  stronger  assurance  is  in  her  face,  in 
her  whole   behavior.     That  question  and 
that  gaze  have  satisfied  him  :  his  denuncia- 
127 


A   Review   of  Hamlet 


tions  are  henceforth  restricted  to  her  in- 
fidelity. 

Ham.     Leave  wringing  of  hands;  peace,  sit  you 
down, 
And  let  me  wring  your  heart ;   for  so  I 

shall, 
If  it  be  made  of  penetrable  stuff; 
If  damned  custom  have  not  brazed  it  so 
That    it   is   proof   and   bulwark    against 
sense. 
^een.   What  have  I  done,  that  thou  dar'st  wag 
thy  tongue 
In  noise  so  rude  against  me  ? 
Ham.  Such  an  act 

That     blurs    the    grace    and    blush     of 

modesty  ; 
Calls  virtue  hypocrite  ;  takes  off  the  rose 
From  the   fair  forehead  of  an  innocent 

love, 
And  sets  a  blister  there  ;  makes  marriage 

vows 
As  false  as  dicer's  oaths. 
^een.  Ay  me,  what  act 

That  roars  so  loud,  and  thunders  in  the 
index  ? 
Ham.     Look  here  upon  this  picture,  and  on  this. 
128 


A   Revieiu  of  Hamlet 


It  requires  all  the  tremendous  sequel  of 
the  speech,  to  humble  her  thoroughly : 
but  beneath  the  blast  of  that  resistless 
invective,  she  melts  away  at  his  feet.  '  O 
Hamlet,  speak  no  more  ! '  But  his  brain 
and  heart  are  on  fire  ;  his  words  flow  like 
lava,  fiercer,  faster,  hotter,  till  stayed  in 
mid  career  by  the  fancied  or  real  re- 
appearance of  the  Ghost.  Its  speech  to 
Hamlet  implies  its  reality  ;  its  invisibility 
to  the  Queen,  its  unreality.  To  the  audi- 
ence, it  should  be  as  visible  as  when  it 
swept  the  platform  before  the  Castle.  Its 
invisibility  to  the  Queen  may  be  accounted 
for  by  supposing  a  merciful  forbearance  in 
the  royal  spectre  and  thus  ascribing  an- 
other grace  to  the  proud,  tender  shade  of 
the  buried  majesty  of  Denmark.  Indeed, 
the  brief  visitation  is  more  like  an  errand 
of  love  than  of  revenge.  After  a  rapid, 
causeless  admonition,  the  phantom's  sole 
anxiety  centres  on  the  Queen,  about  whose 
ultimate  fate  he  is  a  thousandfold  more 
solicitous  than  about  his  victim  son's. 
9  129 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


Here,  as  well  as  earlier  in  the  Play,  Ham- 
let may  have  felt  this  ghostly  neglect  —  felt 
the  little  more  of  earth  than  Heaven  in 
this  jealous  eagerness  to  cleanse  '  the  royal 
bed  of  Denmark,'  of '  luxury  and  damned 
incest';  —  felt,  amidst  all  his  vast  pity, 
that  his  own  spirituality,  his  own  welfare, 
were  slighted  by  this  '  negotio  in  node  per- 
ambulanteJ  Nothing  short  of  the  jealous 
impatience  of  indestructible  love  could 
have  imputed  to  Hamlet  *  an  almost 
blunted  purpose,'  while  Polonius,  slain  for 
the  King,  was  still  lying  in  his  blood; 
unless,  indeed,  the  Ghost  were  singularly 
ignorant  of  that  unhappy  transaction.  It 
was  a  signally  sharp  purpose  that  slew  the 
Premier.  Hotspur  himself,  in  Hamlet's 
place,  could  not  well  have  gone  through 
this  terrible  scene  with  more  dash,  de- 
cision, and  reckless  scorn  of  consequences, 
while  all  that  lurid  eloquence,  all  those 
frozen  tears,  would  be  missing  !  Measure- 
less conjugal  love  makes  the  apparition 
real,  and  explains  its  being  both  invisible 
130 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


and  inaudible  to  the  Queen.  Hamlet's 
heated  imagination  and  filial  piety,  dor- 
mant as  to  her,  could  never  have  invented 
a  speech  of  such  heroic  doting.  At  all 
events,  the  reappearance  of  the  Ghost,  so 
far  as  the  audience  and  the  part  itself  are 
concerned,  is  a  dramatic  necessity.  But 
do  not  let  us  allow  the  impatient  re- 
proaches made  by  a  questionable  shape 
to  blind  us  to  the  fatal  vigor  of  that  pass 
behind  the  arras. 

Hamlet's  attitude  towards  his  mother  is 
that  of  an  inspired  prophet.  He  moulds 
her  like  wax  to  his  better  will  by  the  mi- 
raculous energy  of  his  expressions.  He 
labors  giant-like  to  save  her  '  fighting ' 
soul ;  reaching  down  a  redeeming  hand 
through  the  darkness  of  deep  abysses ; 
dragging  her  half  willing,  half  reluctant, 
bruised,  trembling,  bleeding,  into  the  full 
daylight  of  God's  holy  summits. 

Ham.  Mother,  for  love  of  grace, 

Lay  not  that  flattering  unction  to  your 
soul, 

131 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


That   not   your  trespass,  but    my  mad- 
ness,  speaks; 

Confess  yourself  to  heaven  ; 

Repent  what  's  past ;  avoid  what  is  to 
come; 

Forgive  me  this  my  virtue  : 

For  in  the  fatness  of  these  pursy  times 
Virtue  itself  of  vice  must  pardon  beg. 

Precisely  what  he  himself  must  do  to 
most  of  his  readers,  for  not  being  more 
bloodthirsty  and  vindictive.  His  irony 
assumes  a  momentary  plaintiveness  : 

Once  more,  good  night : 
And  when  you  are  desirous  to  be  blest, 
I  '11  blessing  beg  of  you. 

He  can  afford  to  be  tender:  his  barbed 
invective  has  apparently  exterminated  the 
sin  at  which  it  is  aimed :  shaft  has  fol- 
lowed shaft,  until  the  air  is  darkened. 
But  one  temptation  still  survives ;  and 
the  quiver  of.  this  young  Apollo  is  inex- 
haustible. By  a  fine  climax  of  sarcasm, 
intermixed  with  a  grotesque  but  signifi- 
cant menace,  he  contrives  to  diminish  the 
132 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


novel  danger  to  which  her  infatuation 
exposes  her ;  namely,  the  allurements  oc- 
casioned by  the  vivid  recital  of  the  details 
of  her  guilt : 

'T  were  good  you  let  him  know  ; 
For  who,  that  's  but  a  Queen,  fair,  sober,  wise. 
Would  from  a  paddock,  from  a  bat,  a  gib, 
Such  dear  concernings  hide  ?  who  would  do  so  ? 
No,  in  despite  of  sense  and  secrecy. 
Unpeg  the  basket  on  the  house's  top  : 
Let  the  birds  fly,  and  like  the  famous  ape, 
To  try  conclusions,  in  the  basket  creep, 
And  break  your  own  neck  down. 

It  is  terrible  to  hear  a  son  thus  threat- 
ening a  mother,  face  to  face:  but,  taken 
all  in  all,  his  bearing  is  not  entirely  un- 
warranted. And  this  brings  us  to  what 
is,  perhaps,  the  very  deepest  problem  in 
the  play. 

A  mission,  inaugurated  by  what  may  be 
called  a  miracle,  can  hardly  fail  to  furnish 
its  own  opportunities.  Chance,  in  Ham- 
let's case,  will  be  unseen  direction.  Since 
his  life  is  manacled  to  one  issue  by  preter- 
133 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


natural  interposition,  let  the  same  dread 
agency  also  indicate  the  manner  of  arriv- 
ing at  that  issue.  In  the  frenzy  inspired 
by  the  conviction  that  the  Ghost's  word 
is  '  true  for  a  thousand  pound,'  he  would 
have  slain  the  King,  had  he  been  sure  of 
thus  dealing  out  eternal  as  well  as  tem- 
poral ruin.  But  ever  after  and  before 
that  horrible  impulse,  he  is  steadily  on  the 
defensive.  Even  that  swift  pass  through 
the  arras  is  defensive ;  he  does  not  strike 
until  his  own  safety  has  been  compro- 
mised by  his  mother's  cry  for  help.  From 
the  moment  that  he  has  satisfied  himself  of 
the  Ghost's  veracity,  he  is  eager  to  obey 
its  behests.  There  is  but  an  hour  or  two, 
at  most,  between  the  self-betrayal  of  the 
King  at  the  interlude,  and  the  killing  of 
Polonius,  —  a  mistake  which  he  regrets 
rather  as  a  misfortune  than  as   a   crime  ; 

For  this  same  lord 

I  do  repent ;  but  heaven  hath  pleased  it  so 

To  punish  me  with  this,  and  this  with  me, 

That  I  must  be  their  scourge  and  minister. 

134 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


With  men  of  Hamlet's  mould,  intellec- 
tual scorn  is  as  unchangeable  as  truth 
itself.  And  it  may  be  added  that  his 
exquisitely  truthful  nature  constantly  ex- 
hibits a  stern  unforgivingness  of  calcu- 
lated, persistent  insincerity  and  fraud ;  an 
unforgivingness  which,  but  for  vast,  won- 
drous, inexplicable  miracles  of  mercy,  must 
belong  to  supreme  Truth  itself  A  deed, 
a  sight,  that  might  well  dismay  the  warrior 
of  a  hundred  fields,  makes  no  perceptible 
impression  upon  the  nerves  of  this  pre- 
mature veteran  in  woe. 

Indeed,  this  Counsellor 
Is  now  most  still,  most  secret,  and  most  grave, 
Who  was  in  life  a  foolish,  prating  knave. 
Come,  Sir,  to  draw  toward  an  end  with  you  — 
Good  night,  mother. 

Yet  beneath  this  desperate  apathy  lurks 
the  silent  grace  of  tears.  If  the  Queen 
may  be  believed,  he  is  weeping  while  he 
speaks. 

We  do  not  know  by  what  or  whose 
135 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


authority  the  Act  is  made  to  end  here  ; 
certainly  not  by  Shakespeare's.  The  text 
of  the  Quarto  runs  straight  on  from  be- 
ginning to  end,  without  numbering  a  single 
Act  or  Scene.  The  Folio  numbers  them 
only  so  far  as  the  Second  Scene  of  the 
Second  Act.  Instead  of  *  Exeunt  sever- 
ally/ as  the  stage  direction  now  stands,  it 
is  '■Exit'  in  the  Quarto,  and  'Exit  Hamlet, 
lugging  in  Polonius^  in  the  Folio.  In  both, 
the  Queen  remains  on  the  stage;  the  King 
enters,  and  the  action  proceeds  uninter- 
ruptedly. The  present  arrangement  not 
only  ruins  the  Fourth  Act,  but  confuses 
and  enfeebles  the  whole  play.  For  rea- 
sons presently  given,  we  shall  review  the 
Third  Act  to  its  legitimate  conclusion. 

True  to  her  vow,  the  Queen  represents 
Hamlet  to  the  King  as 

Mad  as  the  sea  and  wind  when  both  contend 
Which  is  the  mightier. 

And  observe  how  admirably  that  rapid 
assumption  of  lunacy  now  serves  his  turn: 
136 


A  Revieiu  of  Hamlet 


He  whips  his  rapier  out  and  cries, 'A  rat,  a  rat!' 
And  in  this  brainish  apprehension,  kills 
The  unseen  good  old  man. 

The  King  is  in  a  most  unroyal  panic. 

King.  O  heavy  deed  ! 

It    had  been    so  with   wj,  had   we   been 

there  : 
His  liberty  is  full  of  threats  to  all ; 
To  you  yourself,  to  us,  to  every  one. 
The  sun  no  sooner  shall  the  mountains 

touch 
But  we  will  ship  him  hence.  — 

Ho,  Guildenstern  !  — 

Go  seek  him  out.  —  Come,  Gertrude  !  — 

come  away  ! 
My  soul  is  full  of  discord   and   dismay. 
(Exeunt.) 

The  next  scene  is  the  arrest.  Hamlet's 
unmitigated,  open  contempt  of  the  inevi- 
table pair,  so  different  from  his  former 
constrained  courtesy,  reassures  us  that  he 
overheard  their  pitiful  willingness  to  su- 
perintend his  exile.  Guildenstern  was 
peacefully  silenced;  but  the  more  inquisi- 
137 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


tive  and  less  manly  Rosencrantz  is  spurned 
and  abolished,  as  Geraint's  sword  would 
have  abolished  the  angry  dwarf. 

Ros.     What  have  you  done,  my  lord,  with  the 
dead  body  ? 

Ham.  Compounded  it  with  dust,  whereto  't  is  kin. 

Ros.     Tell   us  where  't  is,  that  we  may  take  it 
thence 
And  bear  it  to  the  chapel. 

Ham.  Do  not  believe  it. 

Ros.     Believe  what  ? 

Ham.  That  I  can  keep  your  counsel  and  not 
mine  own.  Besides^  to  be  demanded  of 
a  sponge  !  —  what  replication  should  be 
made^  by  the  son  of  a  King? 

Ros.       Take  you  me  for  a  sponge,  my  lord  ? 

Ham.  Ay,  sir ;  that  soaks  up  the  King's  counte- 
nance, his  rewards,  his  authorities. 
But  such  officers  do  the  King  best 
service  in  the  end ;  he  keeps  them, 
like  an  ape,  in  the  corner  of  his  jaw, 
first  mouthed,  to  be  last  swallowed ; 
when  he  needs  what  you  have  gleaned, 
it  is  but  squeezing  you,  and,  sponge, 
you  shall  be  dry  again. 
138 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


Ros.       I  understand  you  not,  my  lord. 

Ham.     I  am  glad  of  it ;  a  knavish  speech  sleeps 

in  a  foolish  ear. 
Ros.       My  lord,  you  must  tell  us  where  the  body 

is  and  go  with  us  to  the  King. 
Ham.     The  body  is  with  the  King,  but  the  King 

is  not  with  the  body. 
The  King  is  a  thing  — 
Guild.    A  thing,  my  lord  ! 
Ham.     Of   nothing;  bring    me  to  him.      Hide 

fox,  and  all  after. 

That  the  arrest  is  a  literal  military  ar- 
rest, see  a  few  lines  later. 

King.     But  where  is  he  ? 

Ros.       Without,  my  lord,  guarded^  to  know  your 

pleasure. 
King.      Bring  him  before  us. 
Ros.       Ho,  Guildenstern  !  bring  in  my  lord. 

The  haughty  questioning  of  the  King 
is  pitilessly  demolished  by  the  sublime 
ferocity  of  an  attack,  rapid  and  resistless 
as  lightning.  The  spear  of  Lancelot  o'er- 
threw  whate'er  it  smote :  Hamlet's  elec- 
trical scorn  withers  and  annihilates. 
139 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


King.     Now  Hamlet,  where  's  Polonius  ! 

Ham.    At  supper. 

King.      At  supper  !   where  ? 

Ham.  Not  where  he  eats,  but  where  he  is 
eaten  :  a  certain  convocation  of  politic 
worms  are  e'en  at  him.  Your  worm 
is  your  only  emperor  for  diet ;  we  fat 
all  creatures  else  to  fat  us,  and  we  fat 
ourselves  for  maggots  ;  your  fat  king 
and  your  lean  beggar  is  but  variable 
service,  —  two  dishes  but  to  one  table  : 
that 's  the  end. 

King.      Alas,  alas  ! 

Ham.  A  man  may  fish  with  the  worm  that 
hath  eat  of  a  king,  and  eat  of  the  fish 
that  hath  fed  of  that  worm. 

King.     What  dost  thou  mean  by  this  ?  ^ 

Ham.  Nothing  but  to  show  you  how  a  king 
may  go  a  progress  through  the  guts 
of  a  beggar. 

King.     Where  is  Polonius  ? 

Ham.  In  heaven  ;  send  hither  to  see  :  if  your 
messenger  find  him  not  there,  seek  him 
i'  the  other  place  yourself.  But  in- 
deed if  you  find  him  not  within  this 
month,  you  shall  nose  him  as  you  go 
upstairs  into  the  lobby. 
140 


A   Rcvieiu  of  Hamlet 


King.      Go    seek    him    there.    ( To  some    of  the 

attendants^ 
Ham.     He  will  stay  till  ye  come. 
King.      Hamlet,  this  deed  must  send  thee  hence 
With  fiery  quickness  :   therefore  prepare 

thyself; 
The  bark  is  ready,  and  the  wind  at  help. 
The  associates    tend,  and   everything   is 

bent 
For  England. 
Ham.     For  England  ? 
King.     Ay,  Hamlet. 

Ham.  Good. 

King,      So  is  it,  if  thou  knew'st  our  purposes. 
Ham.     I  see  a  cherub  that  sees  them.  —  But  come, 
for  England  ! 

Does  not  this  point,  In  its  beautiful  way 
—  like  a  star  at  sea  —  toward  the  pirate  of 
very  warlike  appointment.?  But  of  this 
hereafter.     The  King  is  all  aghast : 

Follow    him    at    foot ;   tempt    him    with    speed 

aboard  ; 
Delay  it  not ;   I  '11  have  him  hence  to-night : 
Away ;   for  everything  is  sealed  and  done 
141 


A   Review   of  Hamlet 


That  else   leans  on   the  aiFair :   pray  you,  make 
haste. 

(^Exeunt  Rosencrantz.  and  Guildenstern^ 
And,  England,  if  my  love  thou  hold'st  at  aught, 
(As  my  great  power  thereof  may  give  thee  sense. 
Since  yet  thy  cicatrice  looks  raw  and  red 
After  the  Danish  sword,  and  thy  free  awe 
Pays   homage  to  us,)  thou  may'st   not  coldly  set 
Our  Sovereign   process  ;   which  imports   at  full. 
By  letters  conjuring  to  that  effect. 
The  present  death  of  Hamlet.     Do  it,  England  : 
For  like  the  hectic  in  my  blood  he  rages. 
And  thou  must  cure :   till  I  know  't  is  done, 
Howe'er  my  haps,  my  joys  were   ne'er  begun. 

All  the  might  of  Denmark,  and  her 
dependencies  arrayed  against  the  exiled 
Prince  !  But  just  then,  the  martial  figure 
of  Fortinbras  emerges  from  the  distance 
and  flits  by  in  the  foreground.  *  Enter 
Fortinbrasse  with  his  army  over  the  stage: 
Enter  Fortinbrasse^  Drumme  and  Soldiers ; ' 
as  the  old  copies  have  it.  And  in  this 
pomp  and  circumstance  of  a  rival  power, 
we  recognize  the  hope  on  which  Hamlet 
is  silently  but  securely  building.  With 
142 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


this  significant  array  of  benignant  strength, 
with  this  flash  of  a  better  fortune  for  Den- 
mark athwart  the  deepening  drama,  the 
act  should  end.  Ending  here,  the  inter- 
val consumed  by  the  voyage  to  England, 
the  return  of  Laertes  from  Paris,  and  the 
expedition  of  Fortinbras  to  Poland  and 
back,  is  thrown  between  the  Acts,  —  its 
natural  place.  Greek  tragedy,  restricted 
by  its  organic  law  to  the  culmination  of 
events,  was  necessarily  an  unbroken  march 
from  its  first  chorus  to  its  catastrophe. 
Modern  tragedy  aiming  rather  at  the  de- 
velopment of  character,  through  a  series 
of  events,  has  wisely  divided  these  events 
into  groups  separated  from  each  other  by 
the  interposition  of  a  curtain.  By  this  brief 
but  total  eclipse  of  the  fictitious  world, 
the  mind  is  prepared  for  intervals  of  time 
or  space.  A  year  elapsed,  or  an  ocean 
crossed,  during  the  fall  of  that  mysterious 
screen,  does  less  violence  to  the  imagina- 
tion than  the  supposition  of  a  month  be- 
tween consecutive  scenes.  In  fact,  the 
H3 


A   Review   of  Hamlet 


fancy  is  almost  as  free,  save  to  conse- 
quences, at  the  second  rise  of  the  curtain  as 
at  the  first.  We  accept  Claude  Melnotte  as 
a  recruit  in  one  act,  and  a  Colonel  in  the 
next :  but  when  looking  dead  into  the 
open  heart  of  a  spectacle,  we  are  asked  to 
believe  that  the  Prince  who  embarked  for 
England  under  our  eyes,  is  back  again  in 
five  minutes,  after  a  sea  fight,  and  a  week's 
cruise,  the  imagination  rebels.  The  pro- 
posed extension  of  the  Third  Act,  would 
make  this  greatest  of  tragedies  the  most 
symmetrical  too  ;  while  the  Fourth  Act, 
relieved  of  a  confusion  which  is  now  mis- 
taken for  an  anticlimax,  would  be  devoted 
with  a  single  purpose  to  its  two  superb 
contrasts  —  the  revenge  of  Laertes  with 
the  revenge  of  Hamlet,  and  the  utter  mad- 
ness of  Ophelia  with  the  semi-counterfeit 
lunacy  of  her  lover.  A  gain  almost  as 
great  for  the  closet,  as  for  the  stage. 

And  what  a  tremendous  Act  that  Third 
one  is  !   unrivalled  in  wealth  of  imagery, 
in  exhaustless  variety  and  steadily  culmi- 
144 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


nating  power,  by  anything  in  creative  art, 
unless  it  be  the  almost  equally  marvellous 
Festival  Act  of  Don  Giovanni.  Mozart, 
like  Shakespeare,  had  the  faculty  of  per- 
fect articulation ;  and  hence  the  intense 
self-delight  they  constantly  exhibit.  They 
alone,  and  Raphael,  have  the  faculty  of 
projecting  the  whole  shy  and  ever  reluctant 
idea  from  the  dim  chambers  of  conception, 
into  full,  unclouded  sunlight.  Like  all 
perfect  embodiments,  the  works  of  Mo- 
zart, Raphael  and  Shakespeare  cast  their 
own  shadows  :  the  works  of  others  —  Bee- 
thoven, Goethe,  Angelo  —  are  shadows  of 
the  master's  selves.  It  is  a  common  vice 
to  prefer  the  second  chiar-oscuro  to  the  first. 
The  present  Fourth  Scene  of  the  Fourth 
Act,  except  the  nine  opening  lines,  is  omit- 
ted in  the  Folio.  It  is  needless  to  re- 
capitulate the  argument  already  advanced. 
With  the  Quarto  before  them  and  every 
temptation  to  expand,  the  long  pendant  to 
the  entry  of  Fortinbras,  must  have  been 
advisedly  rejected    by  the    editors  of  the 

lo  145 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


Folio.  Heminge  and  Condell  were  at 
least  as  familiar  with  this  scene  as  we  are. 
Minor  errors  in  abundance  may  have  crept 
into  the  First  Folio  ;  minor  omissions  and 
additions  may  disfigure  its  text :  it  may  be, 
as  Home  Tooke  says,  'the  only  edition 
worth  regarding';  and,  as  Mr.  Knight 
says,  '  the  most  correctly  printed  book  on 
record*;  or  it  may  have  been,  as  Mr. 
Dyce  believes,  '  dismissed  from  the  press 
with  less  care  and  attention  than  any  book 
of  any  extent  and  reputation  in  the  whole 
annals  of  English  typography.'  But  the 
certainty  still  remains  that  Heminge  and 
Condell,  *  sober,  earnest  critics ,'  would 
never  have  dared  to  repudiate  a  long  solil- 
oquy that  had  a  place  in  the  stayidard  act- 
ing copy  —  the  standard  ultimately  fixed 
by  Shakespeare  himself,  or  with  his  dis- 
tinct approval.  A  jest  or  two  in  Richard, 
an  indecisive  scene  in  Lear,  might  escape 
them  ;  but  not,  of  all  things  on  earth,  a 
soliloquy  of  Hamlet's  —  the  final  soliloquy 
too  ! 

146 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


Unquestionably,  all  that  stately  dialogue 
with  the  Captain  is  Shakespeare's  :  possibly 
he  wrote  the  whole  soliloquy,  every  line 
of  it,  just  as  it  stands.  Even  in  that  age 
of  giants  '  sturdy  but  unclean,'  there  may 
have  been  no  second  touch  to  equal  the 

felicity  of 

Now  whether  it  be 
Bestial  oblivion  or  some  craven  scruple 
Of  thinking  too  precisely  on  the  event,  — 
A  thought,  which,  quartered,  hath  but  one  part 

wisdom. 
And  ever  three  parts  coward, 

It  may  have  been  written  to  strengthen 
the  Acts,  or  to  please  Burbage  or  whoever 
played  the  part :  written,  tried^  and  aban- 
doned. For  though  a  leading  tragedian 
might  cling  to  so  tempting  a  bit  of  decla- 
mation, the  house,  the  company,  and  the 
author,  would  be  sure  to  reject  it  in  the 
end.  It  is  most  awkwardly  introduced  — 
lugged  in  by  the  head  and  heels  like  a  dead 
afterthought.  It  is  the  one  speech  too 
many  that  palsies  both  actor  and  audience  ; 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


that  fails  alike  on  the  stage  or  in  the  closet ; 
that  superficially  countenances  the  impu- 
tation of  weakness  and  needlessly  compli- 
cates the  character.  We  can  imagine  the 
more  than  half-created  Hamlet,  statue-like 
uplifting  his  hand  in  sublime  protest  against 
the  threatened  malformation.  After  the 
other  noble  monologues,  it  is  weak  as 
water.  But  the  supreme  reason  for  its 
rejection  is  that  it  is  false.  — 

1  do  not  know 

Why  yet  I  live  to  say,  '  This  thing  's  to  do  ' ; 
Sith  /  have  cause  and  will  and  strength  and  means 
To  do  it. 

He  had  not  strength  and  means  to  do  it, 
and  could  not  have,  until  rescued  from 
captivity  and  impending  death  by  that 
well-appointed  pirate.  So,  apart  from  its 
comparative  feebleness,  apart  from  its  su- 
perfluity, apart  from  its  being  most  lamely 
and  discordantly  introduced,  4  Ml  be  with 
you  straight  —  go  a  little  before,'  —  there 
is  a  positive  necessity  for  its  rejection  :  it  is 
148 


A   Rcvieiu   of  Haynlet 


FALSE  !  False  and  unnatural  !  For  how- 
ever happily  his  counterplot  may  terminate, 
it  is  surely  not  as  a  prisoner  on  the  brink 
of  exile,  environed  by  the  royal  guards, 
that  such  a  motive  for  self-reproach  would 
occur.  Though  no  one  could  now  have 
the  temerity  to  reject  the  scene,  were  it  not 
rejected  by  the  Folio  ;  yet  consciously  and 
deliberately  repudiated  there,  we  may  well 
feel  at  liberty  to  prefer  the  professional  and 
disinterested  verdict  of  Heminge  and  Con- 
dell,  who  certainly  give  no  intimation  in 
their  preface  that  the  original  papers  *  re- 
ceived from  him'  with  scarce  a  blot,  were 
destroyed  as  Mr.  Dyce  supposes,  when 
the  Globe  Theatre  was  burned  down  in 
1 6 13.  This  ill-timed  monologue  though 
weak  itself  does  not  really  make  Hamlet 
essentially  weaker  ;  but  there  is  no  reason 
why  the  discarded  superfluities  of  genius 
should  be  perpetuated  only  to  obscure  the 
pure  gold  of  its  priceless  bequests.  One 
thing  however  is  clear:  unless  Hamlet 
planned  the  subsequent  piratical  capture, 
149 


A   Review   of  Hamlet 


the  Soliloquy  is  not  only  superfluous  and 
contradictory,  but  absurd.  Unhappy  as  it 
is  in  all  other  respects,  it  serves  to  demon- 
strate conclusively  that  in  Shakespeare's 
own  mind,  the  piratical  capture  was  a  pre- 
meditated certainty. 

With  its  present  Fifth  Scene,  the  Fourth 
Act  properly  begins.  One  victim  has  al- 
ready fallen —  Polonius  :  Ophelia  is  the 
next.  The  shock  of  her  father's  death  by 
the  hand  of  her  lover,  has  crazed  her.  It 
would  have  suited  most  artists  to  exhibit 
the  first  crash  of  the  tragical  fact;  but 
Shakespeare  mercifully  spares  us  the  sight 
of  the  blow  descending  on  that  vestal 
forehead.  Her  mind  is  murdered  off  the 
stage.  The  grand  master  will  not  over- 
charge his  canvas  with  details  which  a  lesser 
soul  would  grasp  at.  The  spiritual  trans- 
formation is  complete  before  she  reappears. 
Instead  of  horror  heaped  on  horror,  the 
very  madness  of  this  Rose  of  May  is  turned 
*  to  favor  and  to  prettiness.'  She  softens 
the  gloom  and  terror  of  the  play  into  over- 
150 


A   Review   of  Hamlet 


powering  pathos.  Though  her  character 
has  been  only  sketched,  as  if  by  the  finger 
of  a  god,  in  snow,  what  a  vast  dramatic 
purpose  it  serves  !  Her  madness  is  the 
pivot  of  one  Act,  her  burial  of  another  ;  her 
maiden  beauty  the  inspiration  of  both  ; 
while,  over  the  whole  tragic  expanse,  her 
image  flits  like  the  dove  that  followed  the 
raven !  What  can  be  sadder  than  her  story ! 
But  a  little  while  ago,  she  was  bewailing 
the  overthrow  of  '  that  noble  and  most 
sovereign  reason,'  and  now  the  sweet  bells 
of  her  own  mind  are  not  only  jangled  out 
of  tune,  but  ruined,  broken  !  One  tithe  of 
the  woe  that  Hamlet  carries,  suffices  to 
crush  her.  As  if  in  rebuke  of  that  impa- 
tient Ghost,  the  first  attempt  at  revenge 
involves  the  sacrifice  of  this'  unblemished 
innocent.  But  Hamlet  escapes  the  spec- 
tacle. By  an  inspired  fitness  of  events,  his 
banishment  just  precedes  her  madness. 
His  self-contained  lunacy  could  never  have 
endured  the  test  of  her  hopeless,  absolute 
madness.  The  side  by  side  contrast  of  real 
151 


A   Revieiu  of  Hamlet 


with  simulated  insanity,  though  sustained 
to  advantage  in  Lear,  between  a  young 
noble  and  an  old  king,  would  be  a  ghastly 
impossibility  between  lovers. 

Ophelia  is  stark  mad.  The  only  gleam 
of  a  purpose  left  is  in  the  brief  threat  that 
Laertes  will  avenge  her  father :  *  My 
brother  shall  know  of  it'  :  her  only  mem- 
ories are  dim,  distracted  impressions  of  the 
events  that  crazed  her ;  songs  of  Polonius — 

dead  and  gone, 

At  his  head  a  grass  green  turf, 

At  his  feet  a  stone. 
White  his  shroud,  as  the  mountain  snow 

Larded  with  sweet  flowers. 
Which  bewept  to  the  grave  did  go 

With  true-love  showers. 


And  again  : 


And  will  he  not  come  again  ? 

And  will  he  not  come  again  ? 
No,  no,  he  is  dead. 
Go  to  thy  death  bed. 

He  never  will  come  again. 
152 


A  Revieiu  of  Hamlet 


His  beard  was  white  as  snow, 
All  flaxen  was  his  poll : 

He  is  gone,  he  is  gone. 

And  we  cast  away  moan  : 
God  ha'  mercy  on  his  soul  ! 

Songs  of  Hamlet  too  :  *  To-morrow  is  St. 
Valentine's  day.'  The  whole  ditty  is  but 
the  reflex  of  her  discarded  lover's  passion- 
ate jesting,  the  dark  shadow  of  masculine 
yearning  projected  athwart  the  snows  of 
virgin  purity,  deeper  and  distincter  in  this 
intellectual  eclipse  ;  the  wild  echo  of  his 
own  fierce  raillery  resounding  from  the 
living  sepulchre  wherein  her  maiden  mind 
lies  buried. 

And  sometimes  too,  the  twin  ideas  to 
which  her  bewildered  brain  is  feebly  cling- 
ing, her  love  and  her  grief,  run  incoher- 
ently together  : 

They  bore  him  barefaced  on  the  bier; 
Hey  non  nonny  nonny,  hey  nonny  ; 

And  on  his  grave  rain'd  many  a  tear, 

Fare  you  well,  my  dove  ! 
153 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


And  again : 

There  's  a  daisy  :  —  I  would  give  you  some  vio- 
lets, but  they  withered  all 

When  my  father  died  :  they  say  he  made  a  good 
end.  — 

For  bonny  sweet  Robin  is  all  my  joy. 

Ah,  how  true,  how  mournful,  but 
above  all,  how  marvellous  this  inspired 
imagination  in  whose  imperishable  mirror 
humanity  seems  more  tangible,  more  in- 
telligible, than  even  in  its  own  bodily 
substance !  Seeing  nature  with  Shake- 
speare's eyes,  is  like  reading  the  heavens 
with  a  glass  of  infinite  range  and  power  ; 
wonder  on  wonder  rolls  into  view;  systems, 
dependencies,  mysteries,  relations,  never 
before  divined;  tokens  of  other  atmos- 
pheres, gleams  of  erratic  luminaries  that 
seem  to  spurn  all  law  yet  move  obedient 
to  one  complex  impulse  ;  glimpses  of  fresh 
courier  light  cleaving  the  vast  immensity 
on  its  way  to  our  yet  un visited  world, 
and  all  the  while,  the  soul,  uplifted  by 
154 


A   Review   of  Harnlct 


the  vision,  is  flooded  with  the  very  music 
of  the  spheres. 

If  aught  were  wanting  to  render  this  play 
the  supreme  masterpiece  of  human  genius, 
it  is  found  in  the  contrast  between  Hamlet 
and  Laertes,  each  with  a  father  murdered, 
and  each  impatient  for  revenge.  Laertes 
is  a  hero  after  the  popular  heart ;  gallant, 
passionate,  resolute  ;  moving  as  level  to  his 
aim  *  as  the  cannon  to  his  blank.'  He 
hardly  hears  of  his  father's  death,  before 
he  is  in  Denmark  ;  hardly  in  Denmark, 
before  he  storms  the  Palace.  Unscrupu- 
lous, unconscientious,  irreligious,  he  drives 
madly  on  where  Hamlet  is  compelled  to 
halt. 

To  hell  allegiance  !    vows  to  the  blackest  devil ! 
Conscience  and  grace  to  the  profoundest  pit ! 
/  dare  damnation  :   to  this  point  I  stand, 
That  both  the  worlds  I  give  to  negligence. 
Let  come  what  comes  ;  only  I  '11  be  revenged 
Most  thoroughly  for  my  father. 

With  inimitable  skill  the  mighty  dramatist 

details  precisely  the  forfeiture  of  soul  from 

155 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


which  Hamlet,  except  in  one  wild  tumult 
of  delirious  wrath,  steadily  recoils. 

^^amlet's  hands  are  tied  by  conscience 
and  faith  :  Laertes  has,  practically,  neither; 
has  a  talent  for  blasphemy ;  delights  in 
daring  the  gods  to  do  their  worst ;  would 
be  glad  to  cut  a  throat  in  the  Church.  Yet 
how  pitifully  dwarfed  is  the  son  of  Poloni- 
us,  beside  the  son  of  the  Sea-King  !  How 
he  quails  before  the  royal  pair  that  in 
Hamlet's  grasp  were  powerless  as  sparrows 
in  the  clutches  of  an  eagle  !  It  seems  as  if 
Shakespeare  had  anticipated  the  demand 
for  more  dash  in  his  hero,  and  presented 
this  type  of  a  fast  young  soldier  only  to 
exalt  the  grandeur  of  the  much  miscon- 
strued prince.  Those  who  point  to  Laertes' 
prompt  action  to  revenge  his  father's 
death,  in  contrast  to  Hamlet's  delay,  forget 
that  Hamlet's  father  was  thought  to  have 
died  a  natural  death.  Hamlet  had  no  proof 
to  verify  his  suspicions  ;  —  his  only  witness 
was  the  Ghost !  Beside  the  measured,  prin- 
cipled retribution  of  Hamlet,  the  revenge 
156 


A   Rcviciv  of  Hamlet 


of  Laertes  is  vulgar,  cowardly  and  criminal ; 
his  anathemas  but  the  coarse  mouthing  of 
a  school-boy.  Imagine  for  a  moment  that 
'  Cutpurse  of  the  Empire'  venturing  to 
say  to   Hamlet, — 

Why  now  you  speak 
Like  a  good  child,  and  a  true  gentleman. 

Or  conceive,  in  Hamlet's  mouth,  that  rant 
about  '  the  life-rendering  pelican.' 

Midway  between  these  two  extremes,  — 
the  unreflecting  braggart  and  the  self- 
accuser  '  thinking  too  precisely  on  the 
event,'  —  lie  the  classical  hero  and  the 
Christian  saint.  Either  would  have  dis- 
posed of  the  case  in  a  more  summary  way  ; 
the  saint  by  unhesitating  and  complete 
forgiveness  ;  the  hero  proper  by  a  revenge 
less  dilatory  than  Hamlet's  and  less  treach- 
erous than  Laertes'.  That  the  patience 
of  a  saint  may  be  rendered  as  sublimely 
dramatic  as  the  vindictiveness  of  a  sinner, 
is  proved  by  Calderon  in  his  Principe  Con- 
stante.  But  Shakespeare  has  not  chosen 
157 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


to  represent  a  saint,  but  to  show  how  even 
a  fair  infusion  of  Christian  faith  must 
modify  the  ancient  heroic  model.  The 
hero  in  whom  religion  dominates,  would 
be  a  higher  ideal ;  the  hero  in  whom  un- 
hesitating and  unsullied  valor  dominates, 
a  greater  personal  favorite :  but  neither 
perhaps  would  have  such  a  hold  on  the 
wide  heart  of  humanity,  or  prove  such  a 
permanent  joy  and  wonder,  as  this  pro- 
longed uncertain  struggle  of  matchless 
intellect  and  bewildered  conscience  with 
madness  and  despair. 

'  Hamlet  is  exalted  over  the  mere  man 
of  animal  courage  and  passion,  not  only 
intellectually  and  physically,  but  morally 
too.  The  reckless  '  darer  of  damnation  ' 
is  unfortunately  ready  to  dare  dishonor 
too.  The  King  might  have  spared  him- 
self the  pains  of  feeling  his  way  so  hicely 
how  far  in  villainy  he  could  venture  \^ith- 
out  shocking  his  man.  They  are  both  of 
a  mind,  although  the  master  villain  islthe 
King: 

/  158  \ 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


King.  With  ease, 

Or    with    a    little    shuffling,    you    may 

choose 
A    sword    unbaited,  and,   in  a  pass  of 

practice. 
Requite  him  for  your  father. 

Laertes.  I  will  do  it : 

And  for  that  purpose,  I  '11   anoint   my 

sword. 

King.  I  '11  have  proffer'd  him 

A  chalice  for  the  nonce  ;  whereon  but 

sipping. 
If  he  by  chance  escape  your  venom'd 

stuck. 
Our  purpose  may  hold  there. 

Thus  thickens  the  plot :  in  the  fore- 
ground, the  two  conspirators,  vindictive, 
eager,  aggressive;  in  the  distance,  with 
Horatio,  the  great  defensive  avenger,  mov- 
ing ghostlike  to  his  doom  and  theirs  ! 

The  King  has  been  driven  to  these  des- 
perate measures  by  the  news  of  Hamlet's 
escape  and  return  :  — 

Mess.   Letters,  my  lord,  from  Hamlet.  — 
King.   From  Hamlet !  (reads)  '  High  and  mighty, 
159 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


—  you  shall  know  I  am  set  naked  on 
your  kingdom.  To-morrow  shall  I  beg 
leave  to  see  your  kingly  eyes.'  — 

'  High  and  mighty  !  '  What  grim  sardonic 
scorn  !  How  it  smites  him  between  the 
brows,  as  if  with  an  axe  !  'High  and  mighty  ! ' 
How  the  outmanoeuvred  assassin  starts 
and  staggers  beneath  the  blow. 

What  should  this  mean  ?      Are  all  the  rest  come 

back  ? 
Or  is  it  some  abuse,  and  no  such  thing  ? 

Can  you  advise  jne  ? 

He  is  stretched  on  a  prelusory   rack,  to 
which  instant  death  were  mercy. 
The  letter  to  Horatio  is  longer : 

Ere  we  were  two  days  old  at  sea,  a  pirate  of 
very  warlike  appointment  gave  us  chase  : 
Finding  ourselves  too  slow  of  sail,  we  put 
on  a  compelled   valour,  etc. 

Before  discussing  the  rest  of  the  letter,  let 
us  examine  this  perpetually  misunderstood 
piratical  capture.    We  have  already  noticed 
1 60 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


Hamlet's  first  glance  at  it,  ^  I  see  a  cherub 
that  sees  them.'  But  there  is  a  previous 
most  positive  and  most  specific  allusion  to 
it,  at  the  close  of  the  interview  with  his 
mother  : 

O  't  is  most  sweet 
Where  in  one  line  two  crafts  directly  meet. 

If  the  word  crafts  had  its  present  maritime 
significance  in  Shakespeare's  time,  the 
double  meaning  is  suggestive  of  a  prear- 
ranged capture.  How  arranged,  is  neither 
here  nor  there;  but  opportunities  of  char- 
tering a  free  cruiser  could  not  have  been 
wanting  to  a  prince  of  Denmark  ;  and  what 
is  more  significant,  the  fleet  of  Fortinbras 
was  then  in  port  at  Elsinore.  There  is  an 
understanding,  just  ever  so  vaguely  glanced 
at,  between  the  two  young  princes.  But 
the  following  lines  admit  of  but  one  Inter- 
pretation ;  especially  In  connection  with 
his  perfect  willingness  to  go  : 

There 's    letters    sealed :    and    my  two   school- 
fellows, — 
Whom  I  will  trust  as  I  will  adders  fang'd, — 
II  161 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


They  bear  the  mandate :    they  must    sweep  my 

way, 
And  marshal  me  to  knavery.      Let  it  work ; 
For  '/  is  the  sport  to  have  the  enginer 
Hoist  with  his  own  petard;   and  '/  shall  go  hard 

But    I    WILL    DELVE    ONE    YARD     BELOW     THEIR 
MINES 

And  blow  them  to  the  moon  ! 

One  would  think  it  required  a  miraculous 
allowance  of  critical  obtuseness  to  ignore 
a  counterplot  so  strikingly  pre-announced. 
Yet,  opening  Coleridge,  you  find  '  Ham- 
let's capture  by  the  pirates:  how  judi- 
ciously in  keeping  with  the  character  of 
the  over-meditative  Hamlet,  ever  at  last 
determined  by  accident  or  by  a  fit  of  pas- 
sion ! '  And  opening  Ulrici  you  find, 
*  He  cheerfully  obeys  the  command  to  visit 
England,  evidently  with  the  view,  and  in 
the  hope,  of  there  obtaining  the  means  and 
opportunity  (perhaps  the  support  of  Eng- 
land, and  a  supply  of  money  and  men,  for 
an  open  quarrel  with  his  uncle)  to  set 
about  the  work  in  a  manner  worthy  both 
162 


A   Reviciu   of  Haynlet 


of  himself  and  its  own  importance.'  God 
save  the  mark  !  '  Accident  frustrates  his 
plans.  Captured  by  pirates,  he  is  set  on 
shore  in  Denmark  against  his  will,'  etc. 
And,  opening  Wilhelm  Meister  you  find 
Hamlet's  *  capture  by  pirates,  and  the  death 
of  the  two  courtiers  by  the  letter  which 
they  carried,'  regarded  as  '  injuring  ex- 
ceedingly the  unity  of  the  piece,  particu- 
larly as  the  hero  has  no  plan.'  After  such 
obvious,  amazing  misconception,  one  may 
be  pardoned  for  believing  he  sees 

'Two  points  in  Hamlet's  soul 

Unseized  by  the  Germans  yet.' 

To  make  assurance  doubly  sure,  comes 
the  letter  to  Horatio,  'In  the  grapple,  / 
boarded  them  ;  on  ihe  instant  they  got  clear 
of  our  ship :  so  I  alone  became  their  pris- 
oner. They  have  dealt  with  me  like 
thieves  of  mercy;  but  they  knew  what 
THEY  DID.'  Can  circumstantial  proof  go 
farther?  Could  any  twelve  men  of  sense, 
on  such  a  record,  acquit  Hamlet  of  being 
163 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


an  accessory  before,  as  well  as  after,  the 
fact? 

The  act  ends  with  the  Queen's  narration 
of  Ophelia's  death,  swanlike,  singing  her 
soul  away  under  the  willow  aslant  the 
brook.  But  before  passing  to  the  Fifth 
Act,  notice  how  the  Grand  Master  has 
summed  up  and  defined  in  one  word  the 
exact  amount  of  disease  in  Hamlet's  mind  : 

That  I  essentially  am  not  in  madness, 
But  mad  in  craft. 

With  this  flashing  line  of  light,  the  great 
poet  marks  the  precise  limits  of  Hamlet's 
melancholy  so  sharply,  that  any  attempt 
at  a  clearer  statement  is  but  to  gild  refined 
gold,  or  paint  the  lily.  If  the  text  is  ab- 
struse, any  comment  must  be  more  so. 

Up  to  the  end  of  the  Third  Act,  the 
material  was  so  superabundant  that  the 
story  of  Hamlet  may  be  said  to  have  thus 
far  written  itself.  But  the  most  consum- 
mate art  was  required  to  furnish  incident 
enough  for  the  two  remaining  Acts,  and 
164 


A  Review  of  Hatnlet 


invent  a  catastrophe  that  should  prove  an 
adequate  solution  of  all  this  tangled  skein 
of  action,  thought  and  agony. 

We  have  seen  how  perfectly  the  Fourth 
Act  manages  to  connect  the  past  and  future 
of  the  drama  by  a  present  which,  although 
replete  with  a  tragic  interest  of  its  own,  is 
also  in  an  eminent  degree  both  retro- 
spective and  prophetic.  But  the  develop- 
ment of  the  Fifth  Act  was  inconceivably 
more  difficult :  it  is  the  creation  of  a  world, 
not  out  of  mental  chaos,  but  out  of  nothing. 
In  this  wonderful  Act,  paltry  accessories, 
small  side-bits  of  detail,  are  so  exalted, 
transfigured  and  divinely  illuminated,  that 
they  assume  the  dignity  of  events.  Here, 
in  marked  perfection  we  see  — 

'The  grace  and  versatility  of  the  man.' 
'  His  power  and  consciousness  and  self-delight.' 

We  accept  as  matters  of  course,  —  we 
make  no  marvel  now  over  those  wonder- 
ful clowns,  and  Yorick's  skull ;  the  funeral 
procession,  the  grapple  in  the  grave,  and 
i6s 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


Osric :  but  viewed  solely  as  dramatic  con- 
trivances, they  are  miracles  of  construction. 
The  deep  funereal  gloom,  the  weird  sepul- 
chral torch-light,  which  was  thrown  around 
the  first  three  acts  by  means  of  the  Ghost, 
is  extended  over  the  last  two  by  means  of 
Ophelia. 

Hamlet's  tilt  with  the  sexton  is  not  the 
least  enjoyable  of  his  encounters,  or  the 
easiest  of  his  victories.  In  a  trial  of  wit 
between  prince  and  clown,  as  in  a  battle 
between  a  lion  and  a  fly,  insignificance  is 
apt  to  have  the  best  of  it.  But  even  at 
this  disadvantage,  Hamlet's  patient  cour- 
tesy is  eventually  an  overmatch  for  the 
sexton's  shrewd  and  superhumanly  aggra- 
vating incivility.  The  caustic  old  curmud- 
geon absolutely  grows  genial  beneath  the 
calm  unruffled  smile  of  him  that  was  mad 
and  sent  into  England. 

Clown.  Here  's  a  skull  now ;  this  skull  hath  lain 
far  in  the  earth  three-and-twenty  years. 
Ham.    Whose  was  it  ? 

1 66 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


Clown.  A  whoreson  mad  fellow's  it  was ;  whose 
do  you  think  it  was  ? 

Ham.    Nay,  I  know  not. 

Clown.  A  pestilence  on  him  for  a  mad  rogue  ! 
'  a  poured  a  flagon  of  Rhenish  on  my 
head  once.  This  same  skull,  sir,  was 
Yorick's  skull,  the  King's  jester, 

Ham.    This  ? 

Clown.   E'en  that. 

Ham.    Let  me  see.      Alas  !   poor  Yorick  ! 

And  at  the  first  full  cadence  of  that 
divine  voice,  the  sexton  is  mute  forever ! 

(Enter  Priests.,  ^c.^  in  procession  ;  the 

corpse   of  Ophelia,   Laertes   and 

Mourners  following;    King.,    ^ueen., 

their  trains.,  &€.) 

Ham.    But  soft !  but  soft !   aside ;   here   comes 

the  King. 

The    Queen,  the    courtiers :  who    is   it 

that  they  follow 
And  with  such  maimed  rites  ? 

Horatio  is  silent :  apprehensive  of  mis- 
chief should  Hamlet  and  Laertes  meet: 
unable  to  tell  his  friend  that  Ophelia  is 
dead. 

167 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


Laer.      What  ceremony  else! 

Ham.  That  is  Laertes, 

A  very  noble  youth  :   mark. 
Laer.  What  ceremony  else  ? 

Priest.   Her  obsequies  have  been  as  far  enlarged 
As  we    have   w^arranty ;   her    death  was 

doubtful : 
And  that  but  great  command  o'ersways 

the  order. 
She  should  in  ground  unsanctified   have 

lodg'd 
Till  the  last  trumpet. 
Laer.      Must  there  no  more  be  done  ? 
Priest.  No  more  be  done  : 

We  should  profane  the  service  of  the  dead 
To  sing  a  requiem  and  such  rest  to  her 
As  to  peace-parted  souls. 
Laer.  Lay  her  i'  the  earth, 

And  from  her  fair  and  unpolluted  flesh 
May  violets  spring  !   I  tell  thee,  churlish 

priest, 
A  ministering  angel  shall  my  sister  be 
When  thou  liest  howling. 
Ham.  What,  the  fair  Ophelia  ! 

^een.  Sweets  to  the  sweet :   farewell ! 

(Scattering  fiowers.) 
i68 


A  Review  of  Ha??ilet 


I    hop'd    thou    shouldst    have  been   my 

Hamlet's  wife: 
I  thought  thy  bride-bed  to  have  decked, 

sweet  maid, 
And  not  to  have  strew'd  thy  grave. 

How  different  this  high-bred,  graceful 
hinient  from  the  low  wailing  of  Laertes. 
This  choleric  stripling,  whose  heart  was 
in  Paris  ;  who  cowers  before  a  *  King  of 
shreds  and  patches,'  yet  bullies  an  irrespon- 
sible and  discretionless  priest ;  who  had 
even  more  than  the  full  fraternal  indiffer- 
ence to  his  sister  until  she  lost  her  reason 
and  her  life;  this  small  Hector  must  now 
make  a  scene  over  her  dead  body.  And 
such  a  scene !  His  plunge  into  the  open 
grave  is  unworthy  of  the  mountebank 
from  whom  he  bought  the  mortal  unction  ; 
his  invocation  enough  to  madden  any 
honest  onlooker.  All  that  palpable  rant, 
all  that  sham  despair,  all  that  base  mortal 
thunder,  in  the  holy  grave  of  the  un- 
polluted girl ! 

169 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


O  treble  woe 
Fall  ten  times  treble  on  that  cursed  head 
Whose  wicked  deed  thy  most  ingenious  sense 
Deprived  thee  of!      Hold  off  the  earth  awhile, 
Till  I  have  caught  her  once  more  in  mine  arms  : 
(Leaps  into  the  grave.) 
Now  pile  your  dust  upon  the  quick  and  dead, 
Till  of  this  flat,  a  mountain  you  have  made. 
To  o'ertop  old  Pelion,  or  the  skyish  head 
Of  blue  Olympus. 

Hamlet's  instant  advance  is  like  the 
swoop  of  an  eagle,  the  charge  of  a  squad- 
ron, the  levelled  curse  of  a  prophet. 

What  is  he  whose  grief 
Bears    such    an    emphasis  ?    whose    phrase    of 

sorrow 
Conjures  the  wandering  stars,  and  makes  them 

stand 
Like  wonder-wounded  hearers  ?     This  is  I, 
Hamlet,  the  Dane.  (Leaps  into  the  grave.) 

Laer.  The  devil  take  thy  soul  ! 

(GrappliJig  with  him.) 
Ham.     Thou  prayest  not  well. 

I    prithee,    take    thy    fingers    from  my 
throat ; 

170 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


For,  though   I    am    not  splenetive   and 

rash, 
Yet  have  I  in  me  something  dangerous, 
Which   let  thy  wisdom   fear;  hold    off 
thy  hand  ! 
King.       Pluck  them  asunder.  — 
^een.  Hamlet,  Hamlet  ! 

Jll.  Gentlemen. — 

Hor.  Good  my  lord,  be  quiet 

(  The  attendants  part  them  and  they  come  out 
of  the  grave.) 
Ham.     Why,  I   will  fight  with   him   upon  this 
theme 
Until  my  eyelids  will   no  longer  wag. 
^ueen.   O  my  son  !   What  theme  ? 
Ham.     I  lov'd  Ophelia ;   forty  thousand  brothers 
Could    not    with    all    their  quantity   of 

love. 
Make  up  my  sum.  —  What  wilt  thou  do 
for  her  ? 
King.     O  he  is  mad,  Laertes. 
^een.   For  love  of  God  forbear  him. 
Ham.    'Swounds,  show  me  what  thou  'It  do; 

Woo't  weep  ?  woo't  fight  ?  woo't  fast  ? 

woo't  tear  thyself? 
Woo't  drink  up  eisel  ?   eat  a  crocodile  ? 
171 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


ril   do't.  —  Dost    thou    come  here   to 

whine  F 
To  outface  me  with  leaping  in  her  grave  ? 
Be  buried  quick  with  her,  and  so  will  I : 
And,    if   thou    prate    of   mountains,   let 

them  throw 
Millions  of  acres  on  us,  till  our  ground. 
Singeing    his    pate    against    the  burning 

zone, 
Make    Ossa    like    a    wart  !       Nay^    an 

thou  It  mouth. 
I  '11  rant  as  well  as  thou. 

What  can  be  juster,  what  can  be  grander ! 
Mortal  love  and  manly  scorn  were  never 
strung  before  or  since  to  such  sublime 
intensity.  The  foot  of  true  love  lies  on 
the  prostrate  sham  love,  like  the  foot  of 
Michael  on  Lucifer;  though  here  the  an- 
gelic brow  is  flushed  and  ruffled  with  the 
rage  of  combat.  The  '  living  monument' 
promised  by  the  King  is  already  in  posi- 
tion :  over  the  dead  maiden  stands  the 
doomed  lover,  proclaiming  his  full  faith 
before  assembled  Denmark  in  tones,  whose 
172 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


echoes  ringing  down  the  aisles  of  death, 
must  have  conveyed  to  her  ransomed  soul 
and  reillumined  mind  the  dearest  trib- 
ute of  mortality  to  perfect  the  chalice  of 
spiritual  bliss.  (That  sweet  face  on  the 
threshold  of  another  sphere,  must  have 
turned  earthward  awhile  to  catch  those 
noble,  jealous  words."  Yet  this  superb 
and  well-merited  rebuke  has  been  criticised 
as  a  mere  *  yielding  to  passion,'  as  a  *  sud- 
den fall,  from  the  calm  height  of  philo- 
sophical reflection  on  the  frailty  of  human 
life,  into  the  degrading  depths  of  youthful 
passion  and  inconsiderateness  ; '  while  the 
whole  scene  has  been  charged  with  *  medi- 
tative excess,'  and  with  impeding  the 
proper  march  of  the  action,  forgetting  that 
it  is  pardonable,  and  natural,  under  the 
terrible  shock  of  this  first  sudden  knowl- 
edge of  Ophelia's  death  while  standing 
by  her  open  grave !  Heaven  help  us^ 
how  we  grumble  over  God's  best  manna 
in  the  desert !  Time,  place,  and  circum- 
stance considered,  that  annihilation  of 
'73 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


Laertes  Is  one  of  the  sublimest  assertions 
of  moral  and  intellectual  supremacy  in  all 
Shakespeare. 

Minds  of  surpassing  reach,  hearts  of 
love,  souls  of  truth,  enjoy  the  lordly  right 
to  acquit  others  and  blame  themselves. 
And  when,  as  in  Hamlet's  case,  this  mag- 
nanimity is  accompanied  by  refined  ideal- 
ism and  morbid  delicacy,  the  smallest 
approach  to  violence,  however  pardonable, 
is  apt  to  furnish  a  ground  for  self-reproach. 
Even  before  leaving  the  grave-yard  he 
attempts  a  reconciliation,  — 

Hear  you,  Sir  ; 

What  is  the  reason  that  you  use  me  thus  ? 

I  loved  you  ever. 

His  subsequent  regret  is  but  another 
grace  of  his  *  most  generous  '  nature. 

But  I  am  very  sorry,  good  Horatio, 

That  to  Laertes  I  forgot  myself; 

For,  by  the  image  of  my  cause,  I  see 

The  portraiture  of  his  :   I  'II  court  his  favours. 

He   has  then   had   time  for   reflection : 
time  for  conversation  with  his  invaluable 
174 


A   Review   of  Ha??jlet 


friend ;  time  to  realize  the  heart-rending 
fact  that  Ophelia  must  have  believed  him 
the  wilful  murderer  of  her  father,  and  that 
Laertes  and  all  the  world,  except  his 
mother,  were  justified  in  so  regarding  him. 
It  was  under  the  spell  of  conscious  inno- 
cence and  ignorant  or  forgetful  of  this  con- 
structive guilt  that  he  leaped  into  the 
grave.  He  now  comprehends  and  pardons 
the  indignation  of  Laertes  ;  but  his  own 
conduct  was  far  less  influenced  by  the 
violence  of  the  son,  than  by  the  exagger- 
ated ranting  of  the  brother.  For  he  can- 
not help  adding,  with  a  glow  of  reanimated 
disdain  : 

But,  sure,  the  bravery  of  his  grief  did  put  me 
Into  a  towering  passion. 

Just  as  Hamlet's  exact  mental  condition 
was  determined  by  the  line  of  light. 

That  I  essentially  am  not  in  madness  | 

But  mad  in  craft :  —  ' 

so  in  this  scene,  the  essence  of  his  charac- 
i75 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


ter  is   revealed  by   another  flash   of  dis- 
criminating genius  : 

For  though  I  am  not  splenetive  and  rash, 
Yet  have  I  in  me  something  dangerous. 

Yet  the  King,  relying  on  the  double 
death  prepared  by  himself  and  Laertes,  is 
singularly  tranquil. 

Good  Gertrude,  set  some  watch  over  your  son, 
An  hour  of  quiet  shortly  shall  we  see; 
Till  then,  in  patience,  our  proceeding  be. 

That  hour  of  quiet  never  arrives.  In 
the  conversation  with  Horatio,  that  opens 
the  last  scene,  there  is  more  about  the 
voyage  to  England.  Hamlet  knew  well 
enough  that  his  conductors  were  marshal- 
ling him  to  knavery  ;  but  the  unsealing  of 
their  grand  commission,  and  the  device  of 
a  new  one,  was  a  sudden  inspiration. 

There  's  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends 
Rough-hew  them  how  we  will.  — 

Much  follows  from  this  unpremeditated 
176 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


and  most  legitimate  theft :  it  is  as  fertile 
of  results  as  the  dropping  of  the  handker- 
chief in  Othello.  In  the  first  place,  besides 
ascertaining  the  full  extent  of  the  royal 
knavery,  he  obtains  full  proof,  under  the 
royal  seal,  of  the  King's  villainy.  In  the 
second  place,  this  royal  commission,  which, 
in  the  presentiment  or  rather  in  the  assur- 
ance of  speedy  death,  he  entrusts  to  Hora- 
tio, will  be  a  justification  before  the  world 
of  the  blow  which  must  soon  be  delivered  ; 
will  shield  the  princely  name,  about  which 
he  is  so  solicitous,  from  posthumous  ob- 
loquy, and  assist  in  consigning  the  seeming- 
virtuous  wearer  of  the  precious  diadem  to 
everlasting  infamy.  In  the  third  place, 
Rosecrantz  and  Guildenstern,  those  supple 
traitors  to  all  the  rights  of  fellowship,  to 
all  the  consonancy  of  youth,  to  all  the 
obligations  of  ever  preserved  love,  are 
finally  though  most  cruelly  disposed  of 
by  this  de  jure  King  of  Denmark,  who 
carries  his  father's  signet  in  his  purse. 
They  are  not  even  near  his  conscience ; 

12  ,77 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


their  defeat 

Does  from  their  own  insinuation  grow : 
'Tis  dangerous  when  the  baser  nature  comes 
Between  the  pass  and  fell  incensed  points 
Of  mighty  opposites. 

What  perfect  nerve,  what  ready  wit, 
what  jubilant  power,  in  sitting  calmly 
down  and  writing  fairly  out  that  earnest 
conjuration  from  the  King.  Nor  is  that 
earnest  conjuration  dictated  by  malice 
against  his  former  friends,  but  purely  in 
self-defense.  It  is  the  only  second  hope 
on  which  he  can  count ;  for  if  the  chances 
of  the  sea  prevent  the  contemplated  rescue, 
he  is  infallibly  lost  without  that  earnest 
conjuration. 

The  whole  *  rash  '  undertaking  is  a  sup- 
plemented plot ;  a  reserved  escape ;  an 
*  indiscretion '  only  meant  to  serve  in  case 
his  pirate  plot  should  fail.  For,  two  days 
at  sea  without  sign  of  the  friendly  pirate, 
it  was  not  unnatural  that  his  fears  should 
forget  his  manners.  Besides,  there  was 
more  than  a  chance,  in  the  event  of  his 
178 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


escape,  of  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern 
returning  to  Denmark,  as  they  should  have 
done  when  they  lost  Hamlet,  instead  of 
keeping  on  to  England.  What  determined 
them  to  '  hold  their  course,'  could  only- 
have  been  either  the  fear  of  facing  their 
royal  master  after  Hamlet's  escape,  or  an 
absurd  supposal  that  Hamlet  would  follow 
them,  if  released,  rather  than  risk  a  return 
to  Elsinore.  Be  that  as  it  may,  Hamlet's 
measures  are  strictly  defensive  and  strictly 
justifiable;  their  doom  is  exclusively  the 
result  of  their  own  obtrusiveness  and  folly. 
Still,  we  cannot  acquit  the  Prince  of  the 
same  cold  cruelty  that  he  showed  at  the 
death  of  Polonius.  He  might  have  made 
prison  their  doom  instead  of  death,  though 
it  is  true  that  in  Shakespeare's  time  cruelty 
and  torture  were  terribly  prevalent  and 
men  were  callous.  Horatio's  ignorance 
of  the  capture  is  no  argument  against  its 
being  premeditated.  It  would  have  been 
very  unlike  Hamlet,  either  to  compromise 
his  friend,  who  remained  at  court  in  ser- 
179 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


vice  of  the  King,  or  to  extend  his  secret 
needlessly. 

Indeed  it  is  only  after  hearing  all  the 
details  of  the  royal  knavery,  that  Horatio, 
true  liegeman  to  the  Dane,  although  be- 
longing to  the  party  of  the  future,  ex- 
claims, '■Why,  what  a  king  is  this?'  — 
And  it  is  only  then  that  Hamlet  ventures 
far  enough  to  say  to  this  noble,  single- 
minded  soldier,  whom  he  never  could  or 
would  have  tempted  into  treason,  whose 
good  opinion  is  the  only  human  verdict 
he  cares  for,  —  it  is  only  then  he  ventures 
on  that  fearful  summing  up  : 

Does  it  not,  think'st  thee,  stand  me  now  upon  ? 

He  that  hath  kill'd  my  king, 

Popp'd  in  between  the  election  and  my  hopes, 

Thrown  out  his  angle  for  my  proper  life, 

And  with  such  cozenage ;     is  't  not  perfect  con- 
science^ 

To  quit  him  with  this  arm  ?   and  is  't  not  to  be 
damn'd, 

To  let  this  canker  of  our  nature  come 

In  further  evil  ? 

1 80 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


The  honorable  officer  and  gentleman  is 
silent ;  but  the  fast  friend  and  wary  man 
of  action  answers  : 

It  must  be  shortly  known  to  him  from  England 
What  is  the  issue  of  the  business  there. 

Hamlet's  reply  includes  all  that  need  be 
said  between  them  ;  two  such  men  soon 
understand  each  other : 

It  will  he  short :  the  interim  is  mine  ; 

And  a  man's  life  no  more  than  to  say  —  one  ? 

After  that  the  conversation  instantly 
changes. 

It  must  have  been  observed  that  Ham- 
let is  the  most  elliptical,  as  well  as  the 
profoundest,  of  the  tragedies.  Here,  es- 
pecially, Shakespeare  unrolls  his  grand, 
mysterious  panorama,  without  vouchsafing 
a  word  of  explanation;  here,  especially, 
he  imitates  the  great  Creator,  in  permit- 
ting us  the  inexhaustible  delight  of  pene- 
trating the  veiled  secrets  of  his  mighty 
works  ;  here,  especially,  he  arrays  his  tragic 
events  as  they  occur   in   real  life,  leaving 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


great  gaps  to  be  filled  by  inference  or 
conjecture ;  here,  especially,  although  far 
from  aiming  at  the  significant  obscurity 
which  Goethe  constantly  affected,  he  seems 
to  disdain  wearing  his  secret  on  his  sleeve  : 
and  instead  of  tying  his  reader  down  to  a 
single  view,  allows  him  a  standpoint  and 
speculations  of  his  own.  We  are  left  to 
infer  the  interval,  and  objects  of  delay  ;  to 
infer  the  reasons  of  all  that  singular  be- 
havior to  Ophelia;  to  infer  th.Q.  piratical 
capture ;  to  infer  a  thousand  subtle  things 
everywhere  beneath  the  surface.  The 
farther  the  play  progresses,  the  more  ellip- 
tical it  becomes.  The  last  scene  is  the 
most  elliptical  of  all :  it  begins  with  an 
ellipsis.  You  never  suspect  the  errand 
Hamlet  is  on,  until  you  happen  to  hear 
that  little  word  *  The  interim  is  mine !  ' 
It  means  more  mischief  than  all  the  mono- 
logues !  No  threats,  no  imprecations  ;-  no 
more  mention  of  smiling,  damned  villain  ; 
no  more  self-accusal ;  but  solely  and 
briefly  — 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


It  will  be  short :   the  interim  is  mine  ! 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  we  recognize  the 
extent  of  the  change  that  has  been  wrought 
in  Hamlet;  then,  for  the  first  time,  we 
perfectly  comprehend  his  quiet  jesting 
with  the  clown,  his  tranquil  musings  with 
Horatio,  his  humorous  recital  of  the  events 
of  the  night  aboard  the  vessel,  when  the 
fighting  in  his  heart  would  not  let  him 
sleep.  The  man  is  transformed  by  a' great 
resolve:  his  mind  is  made  up  I  He  has 
now  placed  in  the  safe  possession  of 
Horatio  the  Royal  Commission  contain- 
ing the  full  proof  of  the  King's  villainy. 
The  return  of  the  vessel  from  England 
will  be  the  signal  for  his  own  execution 
and  therefore  the  moral  problem  is  solved  : 
the  only  chance  of  saving  his  life  from  a 
lawless  murderer,  is  to  slay  him ;  it  has 
become  an  act  of  self-defense :  he  can  do 
it  with  -perfect  conscience.  He  has  calcu- 
lated the  return  voyage ;  he  has  allowed 
the  longest  duration  to  his  own  existence 
and  the  King's  ;  he  has  waited  to  the  very 
183 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


last  moment  for  the  intervention  of  a 
special  providence.  *  Now  or  never  must 
the  blow  be  struck  ! ' 

All  this  and  more  is  revealed  by  that 
one  word,  *  The  interim  is  mine !  '  At 
the  very  moment  he  encounters  the  clown 
in  the  churchyard,  he  is  on  his  death 
march  to  the  Palace  at  *  Elsinore.'  The 
only  interruption  of  the  calm  resolve  by 
which  he  is  now  possessed,  is  the  affair 
with  Laertes,  to  which  he  turns  the  con- 
versation in  princely  care  of  Horatio's 
spotless  honor.  Is  not  all  this  indirectly 
but  unerringly  conveyed.^  And  yet  how 
curiously  our  standard  criticism  ignores  it. 

Horatio  starts  at  the  coming  footstep,  as 
if  he  had  been  listening  to  treason  :  'Peace! 
who  comes  here  ? '  As  the  vexed  stream 
of  Hamlet's  life  approaches  the  abyss,  the 
foam  and  anguish  of  the  rapids  subside  ; 
and  just  over  the  level  brink  of  calm  and 
light  that  edges  the  fall,  hovers  the  '  water- 
fly,'  Osric.  Hamlet  is  patient  with  him 
—  almost  as  patient  as  with  the  sexton  — 
184 


A   Reviczu  of  Hamlet 


although  constitutionally  merciless  to  a 
fool ;  whether  a  fool  circuitous  like  Polo- 
nius,  a  fool  rampant  like  Laertes,  or  a 
fool  positive  like  Osric.  It  is  the  last 
of  his  intellectual  engagements,  this  sin- 
gular duel  between  a  dunce  on  the  thresh- 
old of  existence,  and  the  stately  gentleman 
but  three  steps  from  the  grave.  All  forms 
and  degrees  of  intellect  have  been  dwarfed 
beside  this  most  sovereign  reason  :  the 
final  contrast  is  between  godlike  appre- 
hension and  sheer  fatuity.  The  King's 
'  Give  them  the  foils,  young  Osric,'  in- 
clines us  to  think  that  Osric  was  even  more 
knave  than  fool.  The  creature  appointed 
to  shuffle  those  unequal  foils  could  hardly 
have  failed  to  detect  the  one  unbated  point. 
But  he  is  too  slight  for  dissection. 

With  the  extinction  of  this  water-fly, 
the  great  catastrophe  approaches.  Only 
once,  and  for  a  moment,  the  shadow  of 
the  coming  death  depresses  him. 

Hor.      You  will  lose  this  wager,  my  lord. 
Ham.    I   do  not  think  so ;  since  he  went  into 
i8s 


A   Review   of  Hamlet 


France,  I  have  been  in  continual  prac- 
tice ;  I  shall  win  at  the  odds.  Thou 
would'st  not  think  how  ill  all 's  here 
about  my  heart;  but  it  is  no  matter. 

Hor.       Nay,  good  my  lord. 

Ham.  It  is  but  foolery  ;  but  it  is  such  a  kind 
of  gain-giving,  as  would  perhaps  trouble 
a  woman. 

Hor.  If  your  mind  dislike  anything,  obey  it; 
I  will  forestall  their  repair  hither  and 
say  you  are  not  fit. 

Ham.  Not  a  whit;  we  defy  augury;  there's 
a  special  providence  in  the  fall  of  a 
sparrow.  If  it  be  now,  't  is  not  to 
come ;  if  it  be  not  now,  yet  it  will 
come  ;  the  readiness  is  all  :  since  no 
man  of  aught  he  leaves,  knows  what 
is  't  to  leave  betimes  ?  — 

After  this  last  inevitable  sigh,  there  is 
no  more  repining.  His  smile  is  that  of 
the  tnorituri  te  salutant !  He  longs  to  be 
at  peace  with  all  mankind  but  one  ;  most 
of  all  with  Ophelia  s  brother.  The  Quarto 
ruins  his  whole  exquisite  apology,  by 
making  it  a  suggestion  of  the  Queen's ; 
1 86 


A   Rei'ieiv  of  Hamlet 


the  Folio,  by  another  masterly  omission, 
leaves  it  his  own  free,  spontaneous  offer- 
ing. His  superabundant  penitence  com- 
pletes itself  in  this  acme  of  courtesy. 
Alas  Laertes  !  — 

I  do  receive  your  offered  love  like  love, 
And  will  not  wrong  it  : 

his  fingers  itching,  as  he  speaks,  for  that 
unbated  and  envenomed  foil.  What  a 
refined  tenderness  in  the  remote  sugges- 
tion of  Ophelia  that  lurks  in.  Hamlet's 
answer : 

Ham.  I  embrace  it  freely, 

And   will    this    brother  s    wager    frankly 

play, 
Give  us  the  foils.  —  Come  on. 

The  ocular  pathos  of  the  scene  is  terrible  ; 
yonder  skipping  water-fly  ;  the  King  less 
patient  with  the  chalice  for  the  nonce, 
than  Laertes  with  his  anointed  steel ; 
trumpets  and  cannon  without;  Lords 
and  attendants  within :  and,  circled  by 
187 


A  Review   of  Hamlet 


this  pageant  of  death,  supported  only  by 
Horatio  and  the  sympathy  of  his  unsus- 
pecting mother,  the  chosen  victim  of  the 
holiday,  passionless,  fearless,  and  seem- 
ingly powerless  ;  without  a  fixed  '  plan  for 
the  execution  of  his  just  revenge,'  to  quote 
the  words  of  Mr.  Strachey,  *  but  what  is 
much  better,  the  faith  that  an  opportunity 
will  present  itself,  and  the  resolution  to 
seize  it  instantly.'  Let  the  Embassy  from 
England  enter  !  He  is  face  to  face  with 
his  foe,  sure  of  his  man,  even  were  the 
smiling  villain  twice  a  king  ! 

Hamlet  justifies  the  sinister  calculation 
on  his  innate  nobility  of  soul. 

he,    being    remiss, 

Most  generous  and  free  from  all  contriving, 
Will  not  peruse  the  foils. 

He   asks    but    one    matter    of    course 
question  : 

Ham.  These  foils  have  all  a  length  ? 

Osric.    Ay,   my  good    lord.      ( They  prepare   to 
play.) 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


King.    Come,  begin  ; 

And  you  the  judges  bear  a  wary  eye.  — 
Ham.    Come  on,  Sir. 

Come,  my   lord.      (^They  play.) 
Ham,  One.  — 

Laer.  No. 

Ham.  Judgment. 

Osric.  A  hit,  a  very  palpable  hit.  — 
Laer.  Well ;  again. 

The  King  cannot  kill  him  fast  enough. 
The  first  bout  is  hardly  over  before  he 
orders  up  the  supplemental  bowl.  But 
memories  of  the  *juice  of  cursed  Heba- 
non '  may  have  crossed  Hamlet's  mind ; 
he  will  not  touch  the  leperous  distilment: 

King.  Give  him  the  cup. — 

Ham.    I  '11     play    this     bout     first ;    set     it   by 

awhile.  — 
Come  another  hit,  what  say  you  ?      (  They 

play.) 
Laer.     A  touch,  a  touch,  I  do  confess. 
King.     Our  son  shall  win. 
^een.  He's  fat  and  scant  of  breath. — 

Here,  Hamlet,  take  my  napkin,  rub  thy 

brows  : 
'  189 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


The  Queen    carouses    to    thy    fortune, 
Hamlet. 
Ham.    Good,  madam  ! 

King.  Gertrude,  do  not  drink. 

^een.  I  w'lll^  my  lord  ;  I  pray  you  pardon  me. 
King.     It  is    the    poison'd  cup ;   it  is  too    late. 

(^Aside.) 
Ham.    I  dare  not  drink  yet,  madam  ;  by  and  by. 
^ueen.  Come  let  me  wipe  thy  face. 

How  characteristic  of  the  Queen  !  doting 
on  her  son,  dictating  to  her  husband  to 
the  last !  Woe  and  confinement  have 
left  their  mark  on  the  outward  as  well  as 
the  inward  Hamlet:  the  *  mould  of  form  ' 
has  lost  its  earlier  grace,  his  breath  is 
short,  the  sweat  stands  on  his  brow  ;  but 
at  the  first  visitation  of  that  Berserker 
wrath,  he  is  terrible,  as  resistless  as  ever. 

Laer.      My  lord,  I  '11  hit  him  now. 

King.  I  do  not  think 't. 

Laer.     And    yet    't  is    almost    'gainst   my  con- 
science.     {Aside.) 

Ham.    Come,  for  the  third,   Laertes,   you   but 
dally : 

190 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


I  pray  you  pass  with  your  best  violence ; 

I  am  afeard  you  make  a  wanton  of  me. 
Laer.     Say  you   so!      Come  on.      {They  play.) 
Osric.    Nothing,  neither  way. 
Laer.      Have  at  you  now  ! 

Laertes  wounds  Hamlet :  then  in  scuf- 
fling, they  change  rapiers,  and  Hamlet 
wounds  Laertes.  No  accidental  exchange, 
for  Laertes  would  only  have  surrendered 
his  unbated  foil  to  the  sternest  compul- 
sion of  superior  force  ;  nor  could  Hamlet 
well  have  been  unaware  of  that  venomed 
stuck  and  the  warm  blood  that  followed 
it. 

King.     Part  them  ;   they  are  incens'd. 
Ham.    Nay,  come  again. 

{The  ^ue  en  falls. ^ 
Osric.    Look  to  the  Queen  there,  ho  !  — 
Hor.      They  bleed  on  both  sides  —  How  is   it, 

my  lord  ? 
Osric.    How  is 't  Laertes  ?  — 
Laer.     Why  as  a  woodcock  to  mine  own  springe, 
Osric  ; 
I     am    justly     killed    with     mine     own 
treachery. 

191 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


What  a  fearful  triumph  in  Hamlet's  '  Nayj 
come  again  I '  His  wound  is  older,  —  the 
poison  longer  in  his  veins,  than  in  his 
murderer's ;  yet,  statue-like  he  stands  at 
bay,  erect,  alert,  defiant,  comprehending 
all  at  a  glance,  absolute  master  of  the 
situation !  The  mutes  and  audience  to 
the  act  are  less  awed  by  the  terror  of  the 
spectacle,  than  spell-bound,  by  the  majes- 
tic attitude  of  the  avenger 

Ham.    How  does  the  Queen  ?  — 
King.  She  swoons  to  see  them  bleed. 

^een.  No,  no,  the  drink,  the  drink,  —  O  my 
dear  Hamlet,  — 
The  drink,  the  drink  ! —  I  am  poison'd. 
{Dies.) 
Ham.    O    villainy  !  —  Ho !    let    the    door    be 
locked; 
Treachery  !   seek  it  out. 
Laer.      It   is   here,    Hamlet  :    Hamlet  thou   art 
slain  ; 
No   medicine  in   the  world  can  do  thee 

good, 
In  thee  there  is  not  half  an  hour  of  life  ; 
192 


A   Revieiv  of  Hamlet 


The  treacherous  instrument    is    in    thy 
hand, 

Unbated  and  envenom'd  ;  the  foul  prac- 
tice 

Hath  turned  itself  on  me  ;   lo,  here  I  lie, 

Never    to    rise    again :     thy     mother 's 
poison'd  : 

I  can  no  more  :   the  King,  the  King  's  to 
blame. 
Ham.    The  point  envenom'd  too  ? 

Its  being  unbated  wiis  a  superfluous  rev- 
elation. Without  pause,  or  with  such 
pause  as  the  panther  makes  when  crouch- 
ing for  the  leap,  the  final  blow  is  delivered 
at  last : 

Then  venom  to  thy  work  !  — (^Stabs  the 
King.) 
All.        Treason  !  treason  ! 

They  find  their  voices  at  last,  these 
lords,  attendants,  guards  and  soldiers. 
But  to  what  purpose  ?  They  dare  not 
cross  the  path  of  that  solitary  champion 
of  the  grave,  —  not  though  invoked  by 
'3  193 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


the  piteous  appeal  of  their  bleeding 
King  !  — 

O,  yet  defend  me,  friends  ;  I  am  but  hurt. 
An  instant  more,  and  the  hand  of  Hamlet 
is  on  his  throat.  If  the  archangel  of 
judgment  stood  amongst  them,  they  could 
not  crouch  more  helplessly  paralyzed  be- 
neath the  lifted  sword  of  fire,  than  before 
this  awful  incarnation  of  doom  ! 

Here,  thou  incestuous,  murderous,  damned  Dane, 
Drink  of  this  poison  :  —  is  thy  union  here  f 
Follow  my  mother  !  — 

O  the  awful  irony  of  that  fell  interroga- 
tive !  deadlier,  bitterer  than  steel  or  bowl  ! 
The  last  lightning  of  that  departing  in- 
telligence !  With  one  outstretched  arm 
he  plucks  their  monarch  from  their  midst, 
drags  him  to  the  ground,  pinions  him  be- 
tween his  feet ;  with  the  other,  forces  the 
*  potent  poison  '  down  the  reluctant  throat, 
—  overwhelming,  in  one  tremendous  sec- 
ond, the  prostrate  villain  with  a  thousand 
deaths. 

194 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


The  King  is  ground  to  dust  in  that 
lurid  hurricane  of  passion  !  mind,  soul, 
and  body  shrivel  up  in  that  furnace  of 
wrath  !  And  so  it  might  have  been,  at 
almost  any  moment,  since  that  night  on 
the  platform.  The  Prince  was  conscious 
of  this  latent,  immeasurable  force ;  it 
never  yet  failed  him  at  need  ;  at  the 
right  moment,  it  was  ever  sure  to  come 
at  his  call.  An  avenger  so  justly  confi- 
dent of  his  strength  may  safely  await  the 
hour  when  retribution  is  so  righteous  and 
complete  that  it  resembles  less  a  human 
intervention  than  a  divine  dispensation. 

The  last  prayer,  even  more  than  the 
last  confession,  of  Laertes,  extorts  our 
compassion  : 

Exchange    forgiveness    with    me,    noble 

Hamlet  : 
Mine  and  my  father's  death  come  not 

upon  thee, 
Nor  thine  on  me.      (Z)/Vj.) 
Ham.      Heaven  make  thee  free  of  it !     I  follow 
thee. 

195 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


There  is  nothing  so  pathetic,  nothing 
so  heroic  in  literature,  as  the  last  moments 
of  this  superb  young  Prince,  —  pierced 
with  an  envenomed  wound,  bleeding,  reel- 
ing, dying,  yet  making  that  unbated  and 
thrice  ensanguined  foil,  the  unquestioned 
sceptre  of  the  moment  for  friend  and 
foe;  wrestling  with  Horatio  for  the  bowl, 
as  fiercely  as  with  Laertes  in  Ophelia's 
grave ;  triumphant  up  to  the  very  gates 
of  death.  He  has  more  the  flash  and 
motion  of  a  Homeric  god  than  of  a 
man. 

I  am  dead,  Horatio. — Wretched  Queen, 

adieu!  — 
You  that  look   pale  and  tremble  at  this 

chance, 
That  are  but  mutes  or  audience  to  this 

act, 
Had  I  but  time,  (as  this  fell  sergeant, 

death. 
Is  strict   in  his  arrest,)  O   I   could  tell 

you. 

But  let  it  be  —  Horatio,  I  am  dead ; 
196 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


Thou  liv'st ;    report  me  and   my  cause 

aright 
To  the  unsatisfied. 
Hor.  Never  believe  it : 

I  am  more  an   antique   Roman  than  a 

Dane  : 
Here  's  yet  some  liquor  left. 
Ham.  As  thou  'rt  a  man, 

Give  me  the  cup  :    let  go,   by  heaven 

I  '11  have  it.  — 
O  good  Horatio,  what  a  wounded  name. 
Things    standing   thus    unknown,   shall 

live  behind   me  ! 
If    thou    didst    ever    hold     me    in    thy 

heart. 
Absent  thee  from  felicity  awhile. 
And  in  this  harsh  world  draw  thy  breath 

in  pain, 
To  tell  my  story.     (^March  afar  off^  and 
shot  within.^ 

What  warlike  noise  is  this  ? 
Osric.     Young  Fortinbras,  with   conquest  come 
from  Poland, 
To  the  ambassadors  of  England  gives 
This  warlike  volley. 
Ham.  O,  I  die,  Horatio  ; 

197 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


The  potent  poison  quite  o'ercrows  my 

spirit : 
I   cannot   live  to   hear  the   news   from 

England  ; 
But  I  do  prophesy  the  election  lights 
On  Fortinbras  :   he  has  my  dying  voice  : 
So  tell   him,  with   the  occurrents,  more 

and  less, 
Which    have    solicited.  —  The    rest    is 

silence.      (Z)/«.) 

In  this  supreme  hour,  his  mission  ac- 
complished ;  '  winning,  not  losing,  the 
cause  for  which  he  dies ; '  sure,  through 
Horatio,  of  the  verdict  of  posterity,  and 
calmly  fronting  the  dread  tribunals  of 
eternity  with  a  radically  inviolate  con- 
science ;  he  says,  half  reproachfully,  to 
death,  as  though  it  were  his  sole  regret 
at  leaving  life,  '  The  rest  is  silence  !  '  Alas, 
for  us  as  well  as  for  him,  the  rest  is  si- 
lence !  Silence  for  the  lips  whose  music 
has  had  no  equal  since  the  birth  of  time ; 
silence  for  the  voice  whose  least  recorded 
utterance  remains  an  inspiration  for  all  the 
198 


A  Revieiu  of  Hamlet 


ages !  The  solution  is  complete.  The 
wide  repose  of  a  perfect  catastrophe  ex- 
tends to  the  remotest  fibres  of  the  plot. 
In  the  masterly  lines  assigned  to  Osric, 
the  simultaneous  arrival  of  Fortinbras  and 
England  is  announced  in  one  breath.  Ro- 
sencrantz  and  Guildenstern  have  fallen : 
once  more  the  princely  Norwegian,  who 
represents  the  future,  marches  broadly 
into  view,  irradiating  all  that  scene  of 
havoc  with  the  promise  of  a  better  day 
for  Denmark.  Nothing  remains  but  for 
Horatio  to  tell 

the  yet  unknowing  world 

How  these  things  came  about : 

to  sustain  Fortinbras  in  claiming  his  van- 
tage. 

And   from  his   mouth  whose  voice  will  draw  no 
more  ! 

How  beautiful   that  passing  tribute  to 
the  eloquence  of  his  dead  friend  ! 

In  the  sad,  soldierly  orders  and  martial 
199 


A   Review  of  Hamlet 


praise  of  Fortinbras  the  play  finds  its  per- 
fect consummation. 

Let  four  captains 
Bear  Hamlet,  like  a  soldier,  to  the  stage; 
For  he  was  likely,  had  he  been  put  on. 
To    have    prov'd    most    royally ;    and,   for    his 

passage. 
The  soldier's  music  and  the  rites  of  war 
Speak  loudly  for  him.  — 
Take  up  the  bodies ;   such  a  sight  as  this 
Becomes  the  field,  but  here  shows  much  amiss. 
Go,  bid  the  soldiers  shoot. 

(A  dead  march.  Exeunt^  hearing  off"  the  dead 
bodies^  after  which  a  peal  of  ordnance  is  shot 
of') 

This  is  the  only  play  of  Shakespeare's 
in  which  our  interest  in  the  central  figure 
is  compelled  to  extend  itself  beyond  the 
grave.  When  Lear,  Macbeth,  or  Othello 
die,  our  connection  with  them  is  dissolved: 
their  mortality  is  the  only  thing  that  con- 
cerns us.  Whereas,  in  Hamlet,  we  find 
ourselves  gazing  after  him  into  that  un- 
discovered   country    from    whose    bourne 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


no  traveller  returns,  uniting  in  Horatio's 
exquisite  adieu. 

Good  night,  sweet  prince  : 
And  flights  of  angels  sing  thee  to  thy  rest ! 

Hamlet  is  not  directly  on  trial  for  his 
soul,  but  the  question  of  eternal  loss  or 
gain  is  constantly  suggested.  It  is  the 
management  of  this  deep  shadow  of  the 
world  to  come  ;  this  complicated  war  be- 
tween conscience  and  passion  ;  this  sharp 
contrast  between  providence  and  fate;  this 
final  appeal  from  time  to  eternity,  that 
gives  the  drama  such  universal,  indestruc- 
tible interest.  Its  felicities  of  diction,  mir- 
acles of  invention,  exhaustless  variety  of 
character ;  its  splendor  of  imagery,  con- 
structive symmetry,  and  pre-eminent  glory 
of  thought,  would  abundantly  account  for 
the  critical  admiration  it  inspires  ;  but  the 
critical  awe  and  popular  love  it  never  fails 
to  awaken  can  only  be  attributed  to  that 
rare  but  sovereign  charm  with  which  the 
highest  human  genius   can   sometimes  in- 


A  Review  of  Hamlet 


vest  a  religious  mystery.  There  is  a 
poetic  compulsion  that  after  the  fatal  de- 
feat of  so  blameless  a  youth,  after  a  career 
of  such  unexampled,  unprovoked  agony, 
there  should  be  in  distinct  perspective  the 
ineffable  amends  of  the  hereafter.  In 
Hamlet,  Shakespeare  has  not  only  created 
a  character  but  a  soul.  The  deep  spiritu- 
ality of  the  part  not  only  fills  the  play 
itself,  but,  acting  as  a  centre  of  light,  dif- 
fuses an  ethereal  lustre  over  all  his  works, 
and  supplies  the  most  imperishable  ele- 
ment of  his  immortality.  Strike  any  other 
single  play  from  the  list,  and  though  the 
loss  would  be  irreparable,  yet  the  main 
characteristics  of  the  entire  fabric  would 
remain  radically  the  same.  Strike  out 
Hamlet,  and  the  aspect  of  the  whole 
structure  is  hopelessly  altered. 


Macbeth 


{A  Fragment.      Left    unfinished    by  the  death   of 
the  author.) 

Macbeth  is  one  of  the  twenty  plays 
which  first  appeared  in  print  in  the  Folio 
of  1623.  It  was  probably  written  in  1605, 
perhaps  two  or  three  years  after  Hamlet; 
acted  probably  in  1606,  certainly  in  16 10, 
at  the  Globe  Theatre.  With  the  excep- 
tion perhaps  of  Lear,  it  is  the  latest  of 
the  four  tragedies. 

Macbeth  himself  is  one  of  Shake- 
speare's great  criminal  characters.  In 
Hamlet,  intellect,  individual  force,  and 
courage  were  on  the  side  of  innocence : 
in  Macbeth,  intellect,  energy,  and  daring 
are  on  the  side  of  guilt.  In  Hamlet,  the 
villain  of  the  piece  is  a  cunning,  cowardly 
voluptuary  of  small  intelligence  and 
smaller  will  ;  unscrupulous,  unconsci- 
entious, unredeemed  by  a  single  approxi- 
203 


Macbeth 


matlon  to  virtue  unless  it  be  implied 
fidelity  to  an  incestuous  love.  In  Mac- 
beth, the  hero  is  bold,  ambitious,  daunt- 
less, dangerous ;  with  a  mind  of  vast 
undisciplined  power  :  striding  from  guilt 
to  deeper  guilt  with  a  speed  accelerated 
by  remorseful  self-abhorrence.  The 
"  King  of  shreds  and  patches  "  is  a  self- 
impelled,  instinctively  and  elaborately 
hyprocritical  assassin,  who  takes  his  rouse, 
keeps  midnight  wassail,  drains  his  draughts 
of  Rhenish  down ;  who  clings  compla- 
cently to  his  crown,  his  own  ambition, 
and  his  queen ;  a  smiling  Cain,  who,  with 
but  one  faint  effort  at  remorse,  finds  life  a 
joy  till  Hamlet  teaches  him  to  fear. 

The  Thane  of  Cawdor  is  driven  half 
reluctantly  to  crime  by  a  spell  of  "  Magic 
sleight"  and  the  horrible  compulsion  of  a 
fiend-like  woman.  When  he  murders 
Duncan  he  murders  sleep  ;  puts  rancours 
in  the  vessel  of  his  peace  ;  eats  his  daily 
meal  in  fear  and  shakes  nightly  in  the 
affliction  of  terrible  dreams  :  sees  a  gory 
204 


Macbeth 


shadow  at  his  banquets,  begins  to  be 
a-weary  of  the  sun,  and  instead  of  being 
sleeker  for  his  sinning,  is  scared  and 
roughened  by  a  fierce  despair.  Instead 
of  the  academic  gentleness  of  a  prince  of 
thirty,  we  have  herethe  matured  manhood 
of  a  veteran  soldier  :  instead  of  ellipsis, 
complexity  and  oblique  suggestiveness, 
all  is  plain  and  direct ;  the  plot  ascends 
with  great  broad  pyramidal  steps  which 
there  is  no  mistaking,  you  cannot  miscon- 
ceive the  purport  and  direction ;  the  only 
difficulty  is  in  keeping  up  with  the  gigantic 
stride  of  the  action.  The  very  versifica- 
tion reflects  this  essential  contrast:  it  is 
bolder,  rougher,  compacter  than  Hamlet, 
although,  more  than  once,  it  softens  into 
riper  harmony  as  if  longer  use  had 
enriched  the  instrument  in  the  master's 
hand. 

The  one  point  of  resemblance  between 

the     two     characters     is     imaginativeness. 

Paradoxical  as  it  sounds  at  first,  Macbeth 

is  more  imaginative  and  less  courageous 

205 


Macbeth 


than  Hamlet.  The  one  point  of  re- 
semblance between  the  two  plays  is  the 
introduction  of  the  supernatural ;  and 
with  this  all  likeness  ends. 

The  remarks  I  have  made  on  Hamlet 
may  be  considered  little  better  than  a 
running  commentary  on  the  text.  I  shall 
venture,  however,  to  treat  Macbeth  in  the 
same  way,  for  I  am  persuaded  that  any 
satisfactory  analysis  of  these  wonderful 
plays  must  be  mainly  out  of  the  poet's 
own  mouth.  Scholars  and  men  of  the 
world  interpret  Shakespeare  in  their  own 
way  or  in  obedience  to  established  criti- 
cism ;  nor  can  1  reasonably  hope  to  make 
these  Lectures  of  any  great  value  to 
them,  although,  in  Hamlet,  this  very 
object  was  perhaps  too  presumptuously 
undertaken.  Every  educated  man  has 
his  own  view  of  Shakespeare  just  as  he 
has  his  own  view  of  nature.  It  is  almost 
as  difficult  to  revolutionize  his  perception 
of  one  as  of  the  other.  Yet  these  fixed 
ideas  admit  of  partial  modification  and 
206 


Macbeth 


expansion  :  something  may  be  gained  by 
the  suggestions  and  even  by  the  errors  of 
the  commonest  apprehension.  It  would 
be  a  curious  infehcity  if  any  discussion  of 
the  Four  Tragedies,  however  imperfect 
in  itself,  were  entirely  devoid  of  general 
interest. 

But  to  a  very  large  class,  Shakespeare 
has  to  be  taught^  —  patiently  and  minutely 
expounded.  This  class  embraces  those 
debarred,  —  either  by  scruples  of  con- 
science or  by  want  of  opportunity, — 
from  witnessing  theatrical  representations. 

In  the  higher  collegiate  classes  gener- 
ally, my  professional  experience  of  eight 
years  has  taught  me  that  Shakespeare,  in 
a  schoolboy's  hands,  was  apt  to  be  a  dead 
letter,  —  little  relished  and  less  under- 
stood ;  whereas  when  interpreted  to  them 
even  with  the  faintest  approach  to  proper 
elocution,  it  was  both  felt  and  enjoyed. 
Nor  do  I  think  that  the  importance  of 
thoroughly  educating  our  college  gradu- 
ates in  this  greatest  English  author  can 
207 


Macbeth 


easily  be  overestimated.  It  is  a  mental 
and  psychological  enlargement  which  no 
other  single  work,  and  not  every  library, 
can  bestow.  In  the  exhaustless  galleries 
of  beauty,  humor,  pathos,  passion,  and 
power,  through  which  the  young  mind  is 
there  conducted,  a  robust  manly  taste 
may  be  generated,  that  in  after  life  will 
be  sure  to  rebel  against  a  literature  which 
tends  to  degenerate  from  feminine  grace 
into  effeminate  insipidity.  There  is  many 
a  bright  fellow  in  school  and  college  to 
whom  Shakespeare,  pure  and  simple  in 
the  silence  of  the  study-room,  would 
prove  a  bore ;  but  there  is  scarcely  a 
dunce  past  sixteen  whose  appreciation 
cannot  be  aroused,  in  an  intelligently 
conducted  class,  as  if  scales  had  dropped 
from   his  eyes. 

It  would  be  well  too  if  girls  were  ju- 
diciously familiarized  with  this  mighty 
master.  Our  modern  imaginative  litera- 
ture is  so  exclusively  devoted  to  the 
portraiture  of  a  single  passion,  —  love,  in 
208 


Macbeth 


all  its  forms  and  deformities,  delicacies 
and  brutalities,  old  love  and  young  love, 
good  love  and  bad  love,  true  love  and 
false  love,  love  heroic,  love  bucolic,  love 
Platonic  and  love  Satanic,  —  that  it  would 
really  be  a  service  to  convince  them  early 
in  life  that  there  are  other  passions  and 
emotions  of  which  even  the  feminine 
heart  is  susceptible ;  that  there  are  other 
things  worth  chronicling  besides  the  de- 
velopment of  personal  attachment ;  that 
Lear  may  be  entertaining  although  the 
hero  is  eighty,  and  Hamlet  tolerable 
although  agony  has  made  the  hero  fat 
and  scant  of  breath  instead  of  thin  ;  that 
Macbeth  is  interesting  although  the  hero 
is  marred  and  bruised  and  bronzed  and 
middle  aged. 

It  is  for  the  large  class  above  referred 
to,  that  the  remainder  of  this  course  of 
Lectures  is  principally  designed;  and  here, 
as  in  Hamlet,  the  quotations  from  the 
text  will  be  fuller  than  if  a  maturer 
audience  were  more  directly  addressed. 
14  209 


Macbeth 


The  curtain  rises  on  an  open  place, 
thunder  and  lightning,  and  the  three 
witches  —  weird  incarnations  of  diabolical 
temptation,  semi-diabolical  agents,  semi- 
prescient  of  futurity,  flitting  an  instant 
before  the  coming  procession  of  horror 
like  the  advanced  oriflame  of  hell,  —  then 
vanishing. 

Fiyst  IVitch.   When  shall  we  three  meet  again 
In  thunder,  lightning,  or  in  rain  ? 

Sec.  IVitch.     When  the  hurly  burly  's  done, 

When  the  battle  's  lost  and  won. 

Third  Witch.  That  will  be  ere  set  of  sun. 

First  Witch.    Where  the  place  ? 

Sec.  Witch.  Upon  the  heath. 

There  to  meet  with  Macbeth. 

First   Witch.   I  come,  Graymalkin  ! 

AIL  Paddock  calls  :  —  Anon  !  — 

Fair  is  foul  and  foul  is  fair : 
Hover  through  the  fog  and   filthy 
air.      {J V itches  vanish.) 

The  story  of  the  battle  and  Macbeth's 
prowess  are  told  by  a  wounded  sergeant; 
—  the  treason  and  death-sentence  of  Caw- 


Macbeth 


dor  briefly  announced;  and  then  once  more, 
amid  the  muttering  thunder  of  the  blasted 
heath,  re-enter  the  ghastly  three.  Observe 
how  wondrously  they  are  sketched  In  ;  not 
with  minute  personal  details  like  the  soli- 
tary phantom  in  Hamlet,  a  treatment  they 
could  not  endure,  but  with  broad,  vague 
characteristic  touches.  The  enormous 
difficulty  of  inventing  an  appropriate  lan- 
guage for  such  nondescripts  is  inconceivable 
to  one  who  has  not  tried  it.  Yet  how 
easily  it  flows  !  with  what  facility  the  same 
lips  that  catch  the  accents  of  humanity  in 
its  nearest  approaches  to  deity,  can  also 
find  a  voice  for  the  jargon  of  debased 
mortality  in  its  lowest  association  with 
demonism. 

First  Witch.     Where  hast  thou  been,  sister  ? 
Sec.  Witch.        Killing  swine. 
Third  Witch.    Sister,  where  thou  ? 
First  Witch.      A   sailor's   wife   had  chestnuts    in 
her  lap. 
And  munch'd,  and  munch'd,  and 
munch'd  ;  — 
zi  I 


Macbeth 


"  Give  me,"   quoth  I : 

"Aroint  thee,  witch!  the  rump- 
fed  ronyon  cries. 

Her  husband  's  to  Aleppo  gone, 
master  o'  the  Tiger. 

But  in  a  sieve  I  '11  thither  sail, 

And,  like  a  rat  without  a  tail, 

I  '11  do,  I  '11  do,  and  I  '11  do. 

I'll  give  thee  a  wind. 

Thou  art  kind. 

And  I  another. 

I  myself  have  all  the  other. — 

Though  his  bark  cannot  be  lost, 

Yet  it  shall  be  tempest-tost. 

Look  what  I  have. 

Show  me,  show  me. 

Here  I  have  a  pilot's  thumb, 

Wreck'd     as    homeward    he    did 
come.  {Drum  within.) 

A  drum,  a  drum  ! 

Macbeth  doth  come. 

The  weird  sisters,  hand  in  hand. 
Posters  of  the  sea  and  land. 
Thus  do  go  about,  about : 
Thrice   to  thine,  and   thrice   to 
mine 

212 


Sec.  Witch. 
First  Witch. 
Third  Witch. 
First  Witch. 


Sec.    Witch. 
First  Witch. 


Third  Witch. 
AIL 


Macbeth 


And  thrice  again,  to  make  up  nine. 
Peace  !  —  the  charm  's  wound  up. 
{Enter  Macbeth  and  Banquo.) 

The  roll  of  the  Scottish  drum  breaking 
gradually  in  on  this  fantastical  incantation, 
the  entry  of  Macbeth  and  Banquo  glittering 
in  victorious  armor,  suddenly  face  to  face 
with  these  crouching,  malignant  shapes,  is 
brilliantly  effective.  The  poorest  pair  of 
actors  that  ever  trod  the  boards  are  sure  of 
applause  if  only  for  the  very  power  of  the 
contrast.  Observe  how  with  one  sweep 
of  the  brush  these  *  posters  of  the  sea  and 
land '  are  colored,  the  characters  of  the 
two  conquerors  discriminated,  and  the 
whole  plot  darkly  foreshadowed.  The 
chieftains  do  not  at  once  perceive  the 
ambushed  witches  :  time  is  wisely  allowed 
for  the  martial  entry  to  take  full  effect : 
but  as  soon  as  the  Three  are  seen  how  the 
startled  thanes  recoil  from  the  incarnation 
of  a  dream  with  which  neither  was  entirely 
unfamiliar.  And  mark  how,  as  soon  as 
addressed,  the  witches  forsake  their  whis- 
213 


Macbeth 


pering,  crouching,  mumbling  diablerie  and 
assume  a  dignity  fitting  the  mistresses  of 
the  elements  and  oracles  of  the  future. 

Macb.  So  foul   and  fair  a  day  I   have  not 

seen. 
Banquo  How  far  is  't  called  to  Forres  ?  — 

What  are  these 
So  wither'd   and   so  wild    in   their 

attire, 
That  look  not  like  the  inhabitants 

o'  the  earth, 
And    yet   are  on  't  ?  —  Live  you  ? 

or  are  you  aught 
That    man    may    question  ?      You 

seem  to  understand  me, 
By  each  at  once  her  choppy  finger 

laying 
Upon     her     skinny     lips  :  —  you 

should  be  women. 
And  yet   your  beards  forbid  me  to 

interpret 
That  you  are  so. 
Macb.  Speak   if  you   can  :  — 

what  are  you  ? 
First  Witch.  All    hail,   Macbeth !   hail   to   thee, 
thane  of  Glamis ! 
214 


Macbeth 


Sec.  Witch.     All    hail,   Macbeth  !   hail   to   thee, 

thane  of  Cawdor  ! 
Third  Witch.  All    hail,  Macbeth !  that   shalt   be 

King  hereafter ! 
Ban.  Good  sir,  why   do   you    start   and 

seem  to  fear 
Things  that  do  sound   so  fair  ?  — 

r  the  name  of  truth, 
Are  ye  fantastical,  or  that  indeed 
Which  outwardly  ye  show  ?      My 

noble  partner 
You  greet  with  present  grace  and 

great  prediction 
Of  noble  having  and  of  royal  hope, 
That   he  seems   rapt  withal :  —  to 

me  you  speak  not : 
If  you  can   look  into  the  seeds  of 

time, 
And   say   which   grain   will  grow, 

and  which  will  not. 
Speak,  then,  to    me,  who   neither 

beg  nor  fear 
Your  favours  nor  your  hate. 
First  Witch.   Hail ! 
Sec.  Witch.     Hail ! 
Third  Witch.  Hail ! 

215 


Macbeth 


First  Witch.   Lesser  than  Macbeth  and   greater. 
Sec.  Witch.     Not  so  happy,  yet  much  happier. 
Third  Witch.  Thou  shalt  get  kings,  though  thou 
be  none : 
So  all   hail,  Macbeth  and    Banquo. 
First  Witch.   Banquo  and  Macbeth,  all  hail  ! 
Macb.  Stay,  you   imperfect  speakers,  tell 

me  more  : 
By    Sinel's   death    I    know    I    am 

thane  of  Glamis  ; 
But  how  of  Cawdor  ?  the  thane  of 

Cawdor  lives, 
A   prosperous   gentleman ;   and   to 

be  King 
Stands   not  within   the  prospect  of 

belief. 
No  more  than  to  be  Cawdor.     Say 

from  whence 
You  owe  this  strange  intelligence  ? 

or  why 
Upon  this  blasted   heath  you  stop 

our  way 
With     such     prophetic     greeting  ? 
Speak,  I  charge  you. 

(^TFitches  vanish.) 
Ban.  The   earth    hath    bubbles,   as    the 

water  has, 
216 


Macbeth 


And  these  are  of  them  :  —  whither 
are  they  vanish'd  ? 
Mach.  Into  the  air;  and  what  seem'd  cor- 

poral melted 
As  breath  into  the  wind.  —  Would 
they  had  stay'd  ! 
Ban.  Were   such  things   here  as  we  do 

speak  about  ? 
Or  have  we  eaten  on   the   insane 

root 
That  takes  the  reason  prisoner  ? 
Macb.  Your  children  shall  be  kings. 

Ban.  You  shall  be  king. 

Macb.  And  thane  of  Cawdor  too,  —  went 

it  not  so  ? 
Ban.  To  the  selfsame   tune  and  words. 

—  who  's  there  ? 
(J£.nter  Ross  and  Angus.) 

Both  these  men  are  ambitious,  both  not 
unfamiliar  with  a  royal  hope,  yet  while 
Banquo  loftily  repels  the  temptation,  Mac- 
beth is  already  a  murderer  at  heart :  *  My 
thought,  whose  murder  yet  is  but  fantas- 
tical.' His  subsequent  hesitation  is  chiefly 
timidity,  his  subsequent  remorse  an  excess 
217 


Macbeth 


of  superstitious  imagination.  How  he 
gloats  over  the  partial  fulfilment  of  the 
weird  prediction  : 

Glamis  and  thane  of  Cawdor  : 
The  greatest  is  behind  ! 

How  instantly  envious  of  Banquo  : 

Do  you  not  hope  your  children  shall  be  kings, 
When  those  that  gave  the   thane  of  Cawdor  to 

me 
Promis'd  no  less  to  them  ? 

How  rapt  and  how  exultant : 

Two  truths  are  told, 
As  happy  prologues  to  the  swelling  act 
Of  the  imperial  theme. 

It  is  but  the  poorest  self-deception  to  plead 

If  chance  will  have  me  King,  why,  chance  may 

crow^n  me 
Without  my  stir. 

His  guilty  purpose  is  already  busied  with 
details : 

218 


Macbeth 


The    Prince    of   Cumberland !    that    is    a    step 

(steep  ?) 
On  which  I  must  fall  down,  or  else  o'erleap, 
For  in  my  way  it  lies.      Stars,  hide  your  fires ; 
Let  not  light  see  my  black  and  deep  desires  : 
The  eye  wink  at  the  hand  ;  yet  let  that  be, 
Which  the  eye  fears,  when  it  is  done,  to  see. 

All  this  fell  determination  in  the  face  of 
the  meek  King  who  had  just  rewarded  his 
valor  with  all  the  grace  and  guerdon  a 
monarch  can  bestow ;  and  who  means  to 
crown  his  bounty  by  a  visit  to  his  '  peer- 
less kinsman.'  It  would  only  be  repeat- 
ing Coleridge  to  dwell  upon  this  first  fine 
contrast  between  Macbeth  and  Banquo. 
And,  although  collegians  are  chiefly  here 
addressed,  I  do  not  feel  at  liberty  con- 
sciously to  detail  views  which  have  been 
already  elaborated. 

Macbeth's  guilt  is  rendered  infernal  by 
the  combined  meekness,  magnanimity,  in- 
firmities   and    lovingness    of   his    victim. 
Duncan  absolutely  dotes  on  him,  with  but 
219 


Macbeth 


a  halting  afterthought  for  the  no  less 
deserving  Banquo.  Lady  Macbeth's  esti- 
mate of  her  husband's  character  must  not 
mislead  us.  It  is  just  such  an  analysis  of 
a  human  heart  as  a  fiend  might  make  from 
some  lonely  pinnacle  of  hell.  She  has 
abandoned  herself,  body  and  soul  to  am- 
bition,—  determined  to  be  Queen  though 
damned  for  it ;  her  will  and  courage  are 
so  perfect,  her  demoniac  logic  so  consistent, 
that  his  manly  recoil  from  murder  strikes 
her  as  coward  benevolence,  his  scruples  as 
so  much  piety  misplaced.  There  is  not 
much  of  the  milk  of  human  kindness  in 
this  man's  bosom  —  it  only  seems  so  to 
her ;  his  ambition  is  as  criminal  as  human 
ambition  can  be,- — her  complaint  of  its 
being  *  without  the  illness  should  attend 
it'  proceeds  from  a  full  diabolical  posses- 
sion. His  character  brightens  only  when 
laid  side  by  side  with  hers,  as  a  villain 
might  look  a  little  whiter  arm  in  arm  with 
a  fiend.  She  longs  to  infect  him  with  her 
infernal  malice: 


Macbeth 


Hie  thee  hither, 
That  I  may  pour  my  spirits  in  thine  ear ; 
And  chastise  with  the  valour  of  my  tongue 
All  that  impedes  thee  from  the  golden  round, 
Which  fate  and  metaphysical  aid  doth  seem 
To  have  thee  crown'd  withal. 

Her  dedication  of  herself  to  the  powers  of 
darkness,  her  invocation  of  night  and  hell 
and  all  the  sightless  substances  that  wait 
on  nature's  mischief,  bind  her  more  irrevo- 
cably, more  sublimely,  more  distinctly  to 
the  arch-fiend's  service  than  if  the  bond 
of  blood  and  parchment  had  passed 
between  them ;  the  most  dauntless,  de- 
liberate self-damnation  ever  perpetrated, — 
a  positive  wooing  of  eternal  perdition,  — 
a  deadly,  passionate  appeal  flashed  into 
the  very  heart  of  hell.  She  is  not  simply 
fiendish,  but  palpably  fiend  like.  A 
woman  who  acts  this  should  have  the  lurid 
halo  of  the  damned  coiled  visibly  about 
her  brows.  What  inborn  demon  in  the 
man  ever  wedded  him  to  such  a  wife  ? 
What  a  ghastly  courtship  it    must  have 


Macbeth 


been  !  Could  she  ever  have  loved  ?  loved 
with  all  that  reigning  devil  in  her  soul? 
Yet  out  of  all  womanhood,  he  singled  her 
to  be  his  own  —  and  calls  her  '  dearest 
chuck,'  and  loves  and  fondles  her  !  The 
surrender  of  feminine  innocence  to  ser- 
pentine allurement  is  but  the  hard  condi- 
tion of  Eden;  the  surrender  of  all  manly 
honor  to  feminine  solicitation  is  an  absolute 
divorce  between  heaven  and  earth  !  The 
ruling  grace  of  manhood  is  power,  of 
womanhood  submission.  A  woman  may 
yield  to  the  fascination  of  superior  strength 
or  subtlety,  in  slavish  obedience  to  a 
mysterious  instinct,  without  being  radically 
influenced  either  by  the  virtues  or  the  vices 
of  her  idol.  But  a  cruel  man  so  thoroughly 
bad  hearted  as  to  ignore  all  the  redeeming 
influences  of  existence  by  loving  a  woman 
crueller  than  himself,  may  be  said  to  excel 
her  in  guilt  by  the  bare  enormity  of  lov- 
ing her.  At  bottom,  Macbeth  was  worse 
than  his  wife.  With  half  her  undaunted 
mettle  he  would  have  ventured  on  twice 


Macbeth 


her  crimes  ;  for  as  soon  as  his  courage  is 
bolstered  by  despair,  he  outstrips  her  in 
guilt  and  leaves  her  fainting,  distanced, 
dying  in  his  gory  pathway.  The  stalwart 
regicide  hurrying  from  murder  to  murder, 
vet  puttering  with  witches  and  quailing 
before  the  painted  devil  of  his  imagination, 
is  in  every  way  more  despicable  than  the 
lost  woman  sublimely  invoking  the  fiend 
she  serves  to  avert  the  truer  remorse  by 
which  she  ultimately  perishes. 

Come,  you  spirits 
That  tend  on  mortal  thoughts,  unsex   me  here  ; 
And  fill  me  from  the  crown  to  the  toe,  top-full 
Of  direst  cruelty  !   make  thick  my  blood. 
Stop  up  the  access  and  passage  to  remorse  ; 
That  no  compunctious  visitings  of  nature 
Shake  my  fell  purpose,  nor  keep  pace  between 
The    effect    and    it !      Come    to    my    woman's 

breasts 
And    take    my    milk    for    gall,    you    murdering 

ministers. 
Wherever  in  your  sightless  substances 
You  wait    on    nature's   mischief!   Come,  thick 

night, 

223 


Macbeth 


And  pall  thee  in  the  dunnest  smoke  of  hell, 
That    my    keen    knife    see    not    the   wound    it 

makes, 
Nor    heaven    peep  through    the  blanket  of  the 

dark. 
To  cry  "  Hold,  hold  !  " 

She  is  even  happy  in  the  completeness  of 
her  fierce  intent,  in  the  total  extinguish- 
ment of  human  tenderness,  in  the  passion- 
ate revelry  of  fully  accepted  sin.  She  is 
literally  enamoured  of  guilt,  intoxicated 
with  demoniac  desire.  She  springs  to 
meet  her  coming  lord  with  the  exultant 
bound  of  a  tigress  to  her  mate  when  the 
scent  of  blood  is  on  the  night  wind. 

Great  Glamis  !   worthy  Cawdor  ! 
Greater  than  both,  by  the  all-hail  hereafter! 
Thy  letters  have  transported  me  beyond 
This  ignorant  present,  and  I  feel  now 
The  future  in  the  instant. 
Macb.  My  dearest  love, 

Duncan  comes  here  to-night. 
Lady  M.  And  when  goes  hence  ? 

Macb.  To-morrow  as  he  purposes. 

224 


Macbeth 


Lady  M.  O  never 

Shall  sun  that  morrow  see  ! 

Your  face,  my   thane,  is    as  a  book 
where  men 

May  read  strange  matters  :  —  to  be- 
guile the  time. 

Look  like  the  time;  bear  welcome  in 
your  eye, 

Your  hand,  your  tongue  :    look    like 
the  innocent  flower. 

But  be  the  serpent  under 't. 
Macb.  We  will  speak  further. 

Lady  M.  Only  look  up  clear; 

To  alter  favour  ever  is  to  fear ; 

Leave  all  the  rest  to  me. 

The  great  ruined  man  with  all  the  gloom 
and  agony  of  guilt  in  his  face,  —  the  woman 
smiling,  happy,  collected,  tranquil  as  inno- 
cence. How  her  soul  hisses  out  in  those 
four  words,  '  And  when  goes  hence  ?  ' 
Yet  how  colloquially  Ristori  glided  over 
it !  *  E  quando  si  parte  ?  '  With  just  as 
little  force  and  significance  as  if  she  were 
putting  the  question  to  a  hackman  on  the 
15  225 


Macbeth 


Lung'  Arno.  Ah,  could  we  only  have 
heard  Rachel  give  the  equivalent  of  that 
terrible  question  ! 

In  fearful  contrast  with  all  this  is  the 
bland  security  of  the  venerable  King. 
He  enjoys  the  pleasant  site  of  the  castle 
and  its  nimble  air;  enjoys  Banquo's  nice 
dissertation  about  the  temple-haunting 
martlet.  His  heart  and  lips  are  overflow- 
ing with  royal  courtesy :  an  ancient  grace 
sparkles  in  all  he  says  and  does. 

Give  me  your  hand ; 
Conduct  me  to  mine  host:   we  love  him  highly, 
And  shall  continue  our  graces  towards  him. 
By  your  leave,  hostess. 

At  that  very  instant,  in  a  lobby  in  the 
castle,  that  same  host  is  musing  : 

If  it  were  done  when  't  is  done,  then  't  were  well 
It  were  done  quickly  :   if  the  assassination 
Could  trammel  up  the  consequence,  and  catch, 
With  his  surcease,  success ;   that  but  this  blow 
Might  be  the  be-all  and  the  end-all  here^ 
But  here^  upon  this  bank  and  shoal  of  time, — 
We  'd  jump  the  life  to  come. 
226 


Macbeth 


But  for  certain  temporal  retribution,  the 
life  to  come  might  be  left  out  of  the  calcu- 
lation, ignored,  jumped.  Observe  how 
pointedly  this  is  in  contrast  with  Hamlet, 
who  does  not  set  his  life  at  a  pin's  fee, 
who  is  only  deterred  by  the  dread  of  some- 
thing after  death.  Macbeth  would  relin- 
quish all  hope  of  heaven  were  temporal 
success  the  sure  consequence  of  assassina- 
tion :  he  is  daunted  only  by  the  impo- 
tence of  murder  to  secure  its  ends  even  on 
this  bank  and  shoal  of  time ;  only  by  the 
inevitable  temporal  atonement. 

But  in  these  cases, 
We  still  have  judgment  here  ;  that  we  but  teach 
Bloody  instructions,  which,  being  taught,  return 
To  plague  the  inventor  ;  this  even-handed  justice 
Commends  the  ingredients  of  our  poison'd  chalice 
To  our  own  lips. 

It  may  seem  gratuitous  to  dwell  upon  a 
soliloquy  which,  although  somewhat  ob- 
scure in  its  opening  by  reason  of  its  mas- 
sive thought,  must  be  perfectly  intelligible 
227 


Macbeth 


to  most  readers.  Yet  as  a  sample  of  Shake- 
spearean criticism,  I  may  mention  that 
Schlegel  gravely  cites,  ^  We'd  jump  the  life 
to  come  '  as  evidence  *  that  Macbeth  dreads 
the  prospect  of  the  life  to  come  ; '  precisely 
the  opposite  of  its  first  obvious  meaning. 
The  whole  point  of  the  lament  is  not  that 
the  eternal  jewel  of  his  soul  is  given  to 
the  common  enemy  of  man,  but  (to 
blend  two  monologues)  that  rancours  put 
poison  in  the  chalice  of  his  peace.  The 
double  dishonor  of  the  meditated  deed, 
the  meek  unprovokingness  of  the  spotless 
King,  are  recited  not  in  compassion  but 
in  regret  that  the  sides  of  his  intent  have 
no  other  spur  than  vaulting  ambition  which 
o'erleaps  itself  His  recoil  is  but  a  cow- 
ardly, selfish  calculation  of  the  chances 
against  him  :  he  will  proceed  no  further 
in  the  business  solely  because  he  has  been 
honored  of  late;  because  it  would  be  a 
pity  to  cast  aside  the  golden  opinions  of 
all  sorts  of  people  while  in  their  newest 
gloss.  Some  flash  of  generous  martial 
228 


Macbeth 


repugnance  may  have  visited  him,  but  not 
articulately.  His  great  fear  is  the  fear  of 
failure :  his  great  regret  the  want  of  a 
satisfactory  stimulant.  His  fear  abates  the 
instant  his  wife  details  the  practicability  of 
averting  suspicion.  A  stimulant  is  sup- 
plied not  only  by  the  drink  she  furnishes 
but  by  her  frightful,  impetuous  scorn. 
How  she  fastens  on  all  the  covert  guilt 
lurking  beneath  his  coy  excuses ;  how  she 
drags  it  bare  and  shivering  to  the  surface ; 
how  she  forces  him  with  her  terrible  logic 
into  open  confession  that  the  only  dif- 
ference between  them  is  his  inveterate, 
essential  preliminary  cowardice ;  not  the 
conscience-made  cowardice  of  Hamlet,  but 
the  prudential  '  dare  not '  waiting  on  '  I 
would.'  Fiend  as  she  is,  her  compact 
demoniac  eloquence  is  but  the  expression 
of  the  smothered  thunder  then  filling 
the  heart  of  the  sullen,  far-sighted  man. 
There  is  a  certain  lurid  glory  in  this  un- 
daunted challenge  from  womanhood  to 
guarded  royalty,  —  in  this   exaltation    of 

229 


Macbeth 


feminine  weakness  over  masculine  strength. 
Mingled  with  all  its  demonism  there  is 
still  the  human  luxury  of  triumph.  But 
what  triumph  for  a  brawny  soldier,  in  his 
own  castle,  to  slay  a  gray-haired  guest 
asleep  between  two  drugged  and  drunken 
grooms  ?  What  prostitution  of  the  last 
remnant  of  manhood  before  that  warrior 
dagger  can  be  driven  home  to  a  dreaming, 
defenceless,  loving  heart  ? 

The  whole  dialogue  is  unparalleled  as  an 
exhibition  of  human  ferocity  and  exultant 
animal  power.  The  damnable  consistency 
of  her  guilt  lends  an  intellectual  majesty  to 
her  most  horrible  utterances.  The  uncon- 
querable archangel  of  Paradise  Lost  is 
dwarfed  side  by  side  with  this  rapt  high 
priestess  of  murder.  '  She  hath  a  demon; 
and  that  is  the  next  thing  to  being  full  of 
the  God.'  But  let  the  scene  speak  for 
itself:  it  cannot  be  read  too  closely  or  too 
often. 
Macb.        We  will  proceed  no  further  in  this  busi- 


230 


Macbeth 


He  hath  honour'd  me  of  late ;  and  I 

have  bought 
Golden    opinions    from   all    sorts    of 

people, 
Which  would  be  worn  now  in   their 

newest  gloss, 
Not  cast  aside  so  soon. 
Lady  M.  Was  the  hope  drunk 

Wherein  you  dress'd  yourself?  hath  it 

slept  since  ? 
And  wakes  it  new,  to  look  so  green  and 

pale 
At  what  it  did  so  freely  ?     From  this 

time 
Such  I   account   thy  love.      Art  thou 

afeared 
To  be  the  same  in  thine  own  act  and 

valour 
As  thou  art  in  desire  ?     Wouldst  thou 

have  that 
Which  thou  esteems't  the  ornament  of 

life, 
And  live  a  coward  in  thine  own  esteem, 
Letting  "  I  dare  not  "  wait  upon  "  I 

would," 
Like  the  poor  cat  i'  the  adage  ? 
231 


Macbeth 


Macb.  Prithee,  peace : 

I  dare  do  all  that  may  become  a  man  ; 
Who  dares  do  more  is  none. 
Lady  M.  What  heart  was't,  then, 

That  made  you  break  this  enterprise  to 

me  ? 
When  you  durst  do  it,  then  you  were  a 

man; 
And  to  be  more  than  what  you  were, 

you  would 
Be  so  much  more  the  man.     Nor  time 

nor  place 
Did  then  adhere,  and  yet   you    made 

them  both  : 
They  have  made  themselves,  and  that 

their  fitness  now 
Does  unmake  you.     I  have  given  suck, 

and  know 
How  tender  't  is  to  love  the  babe  that 

milks  me  : 
I  would,  while  it  was  smiling  in  my  face, 
Have  pluck'd  my  nipple  from  his  bone- 
less gums. 
And  dash'd  the  brains  out,  had    I  so 

sworn  as  you 
Have  done  to  this. 
232 


Macbeth 


Macb.  If  we  should  fail  ? 

Lady  M.  We  fail  ! 

But  screw  your  courage  to  the  sticlcing- 

place, 
And  we'll  not  fail.      When  Duncan  is 

asleep 
(Whereto  the  rather  shall  his  day's  hard 

journey 
Soundly  invite  him),  his  two  chamber- 
lains 
Will  I  with  wine  and  wassail  so  con- 
vince, 
That  memory,  the  warder  of  the  brain. 
Shall  be  a  fume,  and  the  receipt  of  reason 
A  limbeck  only  ;  when  in  swinish  sleep 
Their  drenched  natures  lie  as  in  a  death, 
What  cannot  j(7tt  and  /perform  upon 
The  unguarded  Duncan  ?  what  not  put 

upon 
His  spongy  officers,  who  shall  bear  the 

guilt 
Of  our  great  quell  ? 
Macb.  Bring  forth  men-children  only ; 

For  thy  undaunted   mettle  should   com- 
pose 
Nothing  but  males.  — 
233 


Macbeth 


I  am  settled,  and  bend  up 
Each  corporal  agent  to  this  terrible  feat. 
Away,  and  mock  the  time  with  fairest 

show  : 
False    face    must    hide  what   the   false 

heart  doth  know. 

The  opening  of  the  Second  Act  resem- 
bles the  opening  of  Hamlet,  —  the  same 
muffled  minor,  the  same  terse  picturesque- 
ness,  the  same  unearthly  resonance. 

Scene  I.  —  Inverness.  Court  of  Macbeth's 
castle.  Enter  Ba7iquo^  preceded  by  Fleance 
with  a  torch. 

Ban.      How  goes  the  night,  boy  ? 

Fie.       The   moon  is  down ;   I   have  not  heard 

the  clock. 
Ban.      And  she  goes  down  at  twelve. 
Fie.       I  take  't,  't  is  later,  sir. 
Ban.     Hold,   take   my   sword  :  —  there  's    hus- 
bandry in  heaven. 
Their  candles  are  all  out :  —  take  thee 

that,  too.  — 
A  heavy  summons  lies  like  lead  upon  me, 
234 


Macbeth 


And  yet  I  would   not   sleep:  —  merciful 

powers 
Restrain  in  me  the  cursed  thoughts  that 

nature 
Gives  way  to  in  repose  !  —  Give  me  my 

sword.  — 
Who  's  there  ? 
{Enter  Macbeth  and  a  servant  with  a  torch.') 

Banquo's  whole  demeanor  indicates  mis- 
trust. He  could  scarcely  have  divined 
Macbeth's  desperate  purpose,  but  he 
plainly  distrusts  him.  Something  in  his 
own  bosom  tells   him  the  man  is  not  to 

be  trusted : 

merciful  powers, 

Restrain  in  me  the  cursed  thoughts  that 

nature 
Gives  way  to  in  repose  ! 

If  the  "  all  hail "  of  the  weird  sisters  is 
the  temptation  of  a  dream  to  him,  the 
father  of  a  line  of  kings,  what  must  it 
not  be  to  the  darker  nature  of  one  who 
is  first  himself  to  wear  the  crown  ?  The 
tempted  but  unseduced  gentleman  would 
235 


Macbeth 


have  watched  all  night  but  for  the  leaden 
summons  of  the  banquet  or  the  drugged 
possets  of  his  hostess.  He  is  sad,  ner- 
vous, weighed  down  with  a  dark  presenti- 
ment of  woe,  ill  at  ease  about  his  own 
personal  safety.  The  torchlight  meeting 
of  the  two  chieftains  .  .  . 

[Here  the  fragment  ends.] 


The   University  Press,  Cambridge,  U.   S.    A. 

—  a3«— 


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